


The Forgotten

by PunsandPoses



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Implied Pairings (None are actually there), Monster AU!, Posting after like six months, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 21:56:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12873828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunsandPoses/pseuds/PunsandPoses
Summary: Alfred just wanted to get through school with his brother. Unfortunately, he's got to deal with cranky shape-shifters, a perverted dead person, and a mysterious skin-walker who keeps trying to keep Alfred at a distance. And then there are the disappearances on campus, which point to a mysterious group called the Icarus Society, whose message of acceptance makes everyone nervous. Also posted on my Fanfiction account.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ha, posting again. Here's my fanfiction.

Alfred looked at the tall, foreboding school with a skeptical eye. Matthew, beside him, squinted at his floating brother.

"Do you have to float every six seconds?" Matthew inquired, watching as Alfred did a backflip.

"Yes, dingbat, I'm a Sylph. That's what we do," Alfred replied, spinning in a three-sixty before touching his feet to the ground. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a large polar bear started to walk beside him. The bear, impossibly, rolled its violet eyes and kept moving.

"Hey," Matthew said, watching the bear make its way up the steps, "since when do polar bears have purple eyes?"

"And since when do Sylphs exist?" Alfred countered. "We're at Kitsune Academy. That was probably a skinwalker or a human trapped in a furry body. What else?"

"I know," his brother said. "But it just gives me a little tingle, and I haven't stretched my wings in ages. It would be amazing to try and transform here."

"No, it wouldn't, Mattie. You're a Halycon, people would pay  _two hundred grand_  for a single scale from your leg. If you're spotted here, I guarantee that it won't be great. Your kind is really rare. And I'm supposed to be extinct, but here we are."

They started to make their way up the steps, people of all kinds passing by them.

A scowling boy met them halfway. Seaweed was tangled in his blond hair, and his eyes were a unnatural bright green.

"So you two are the Williams-Jones brothers. Amazing. Name's Arthur, by the way." His face never lost the scowl, and Alfred thought his face might have frozen that way.

"Matthew," the elder of the brothers said, pushing out a hand. For a moment, a heart-stopping moment, his hand flickered into a wing, but Arthur didn't seem to notice. He took it, shaking it lightly.

"I'm Alfred," the younger said, starting to go intangible, as he was wont to do. Arthur ignored it.

"So, Alfred, Matthew, what are your breeds? Or species actually?" The two sputtered at the statement, but Arthur waved it away. "That's standard procedure here for meeting people. We all know what each other is, so get used to it."

Alfred quickly replied. "I'm a Sylph, and Mattie here is a Lightning Bird." He caught Matthew's look of disbelief, but he shook his head minutely. There was no way they could tell anyone what Matthew really was.

Arthur took a double take at hearing what Alfred was. "An elemental? You're a Sylph? But they went extinct two hundred years ago, why are you here?" His facial expression changed quickly, his eyes flashing a demonic red. The scowl was replaced by a look of wonder. "After two hundred years, the Sylphs return."

"Yeah. So, where are all our classes?" Matthew interrupted Arthur's reverie. "And you're a Kelpie, right?"

"No," Arthur said. "But nice try. I'm a Each Uisge. I take it you noticed my ornament?"

Alfred's eyes traveled to the seaweed entangled in his blond locks. "Yes."

"Excellent. That means you know lore, which means you can survive here. Now, let me school you on the politics here. Ivan, the polar bear you saw earlier, is a skinwalker. His sisters are not to be messed with, especially Natalya. Her sister might be the demon, but she will skin anyone who messes with her brother. Ivan will protect both of them to the grave and he will gravely injury anyone foolish enough to try and insult them."

They started to walk, Arthur lecturing them as he went. "That's Mr. Jackson, but don't ever mention his face. He will try to expel you if you do so."

Mr. Jackson had turned to look at the brothers, and both Matthew and Alfred stopped a shudder of revulsion at the sight of his face. Both of his eyes were a milky white, and one had burst, yellow pus running down his face. Bright red and bleeding cuts criscrossed his cheeks, and bone was poking through.

"What happened to him?" Alfred asked. Arthur waved an airy hand.

"Demon attack. The fool tried to summon a Prince of Hell, look where that got him. He's been a teacher longer than any of us have been here, and his wounds have never gotten better. There's a rumor that they heal in the night and reinjure themselves the moment he wakes up."

Matthew looked green. "That's horrible."

Arthur frowned at him. "He got what he deserved. Everyone knows that you should never summon a Prince, they are extremely violent. They can also put curses on you, ones that you can never take off. They're the one monster here that is always at full strength, the rest of us have to go to the Fire Land just to stretch ourselves out. That reminds me, I'll need to feed again soon…"

Alfred, who had zoomed away to look at a tapestry, came back as the rush of students increased. "Goddamn, I wish I was back in Le Crete. That school might have been crappy, but at least it wasn't as full."

"Le Crete was less crowded," Matthew agreed, scanning the flood. "There." He squeezed between a burly vampire and a werewolf, who were locked in a vicious argument. Arthur and Alfred were left to fend for themselves, and they followed him as best they could. At last, they arrived at their classroom, five minutes late.

"Jones, Kirkland, nice to finally see you," Mrs. Horal said. A short, wide woman, she reminded Alfred violently of Professor Umbridge from Harry Potter. He wanted to snort, but he held it in. He remembered how Mattie had traveled to the Fire Land to grab the seven books, all of which were convienently placed in a library near the portal.

"Hello, Mrs. Horal," Arthur said robotically. Mrs. Horal smiled, which made her look even more similar to Umbridge. If she added more pink and a wand, they could barely be made out to be different people.

"Kirkland, go sit next to Bonnefoy. Jones, sit in the back next to Braginsky. I read your report from Le Crete, and I do not tolerate loudness." She didn't even mention Matthew, who squeezed beside a guy who had wolf ears and white fur.

Alfred held in a groan only in the nick of time: the back of the classroom was very dark, and he could just barely make out what the chalkboard said. Arthur, beside him, looked less than pleased to be sitting by the blond boy Mrs. Horal had named. Alfred made his way slowly up the steps, taking note of everyone there. A black haired boy was sitting next to a skinny snoring kid; someone who kept flickering between being a black dog and a guy, whose partner, with his slightly rotting facial features and stoic expression, looked icily towards him; a pale blond boy who was quietly arguing with a tan boy whose brown eyes were edged in lime green.

Ivan Braginsky, who had been patiently waiting for Alfred to make his way up the steps, carefully moved his binders away from the blond. His own ivory hair was hanging in his eyes, and his brown coat was huge. Alfred sat down.

"Now, then," Mrs. Horal said, grinning up at them all, "This is Monster History 2. If you think you're in the wrong class, leave now. No one? Excellent."

She started writing on the board, and Alfred could just barely make out what she had written. He made a frost telescope, and he swiveled about testing it.

_Course Aims:_

_-Be able to accurately map and tell where each landmark of the Forgotten is_

_-Be able to correctly summarize monster history_

_-Be able to tell important figures in the Human-Monster Wars_

_-Understand the realms_

"Good hell, will you stop turning around like an idiot?" A voice next to Alfred inquired. "What  _is_  that thing, anyway?"

Alfred swiveled, or more accurately, lunged himself around. "A telescope."

"How the hell do you manage to make a telescope from fucking  _ice_ , pray tell?" Ivan asked, looking both skeptical and bewildered. His Russian accent was both faint and obvious.

"I'm a Sylph, I can control air currents and water vapor. I'd need an Undine to make something big though...or create a cloud."

"You're a Sylph? Is that why you're floating? And untouchable?"

"Yep-er-oo. You betcha. I just don't really advertise the fact that, you know, I'm the last of my species. Makes for awkward table talk."

Ivan smirked. "So I see."

The rest of the hour passed in relative silence, Alfred asking odd questions to Mrs. Horal, who looked confused.

"Y-yes, I think Air Portals are still usable...No, how would I know how to make them, I'm not a Sylph...Good gracious, that's horrible!"

At last, a screeching cry announced the end of the hour. Alfred winced as it went on and on. "What is  _that_?!"

"Just the gargoyles. They announce the hours. What else is there for them to do?" Ivan shrugged.

They parted ways, Alfred waving at his as he walked away. He pulled out his schedule. "What next, what next?"

The brown-eyed boy appeared next to him. "Ooh, you're new!"

Alfred almost lost his grip on the paper. " _What the hell!"_

"It's rude to curse," the boy said, still smiling. "Oh, I haven't introduced myself, have I? I'm Feliciano Vargas. Who are you?"

He said this remarkably quickly, but Alfred managed to grasp basically what he had said. "Alfred Williams-Jones."

"Oh, neat, you're the Sylph, right?"

"How do you know I'm...that?" Alfred paused, trying to find the right word.

"I heard it from Gilbert, who heard it from Francis, who heard it from Arthur that you're some species that was thought to have died out years ago. Since dragons went out ages ago, and the Giants practically killed themselves, you've gotta be a Sylph, right?"

"Yep, though my dad always said I was part dragon. Never believed it, anyway."

"That's cool! Ludwig here-" he pulled up a embarrassed looking blond, whom Alfred recognised as his partner in Monster History. "-is a Golem, so he's all strong and stuff."

"Hello," the embarrassed Ludwig said, whose cheeks had considerably darkened to a crimson. He whispered something furiously into Feliciano's ear, which made the brunette blush himself. "Sorry you got ambushed like that."

"It's all good," Alfred made a note to create some of those spy-glasses that Mattie had once gotten from the Fire Land. He had no doubt that Feliciano snuck up on people for fun. "So, Feli, if you don't mind me calling you that-" Feliciano nodded furiously "- then what are you?"

"An Alseid," Ludwig replied to his question. "he somehow got separated from his grove years ago."

Another terrible screeching cry arose, and Alfred practically sprinted to get to his next class. Ludwig waved awkwardly. As he slammed on the door to Latin, thirty pairs of eyes suddenly landed on him. Arthur, who was in the front row, frowned. Alfred blushed.

The teacher was Mr. Jackson, and he wasn't smiling. "Jones, go to the back of the classroom."

Alfred held in a small snarl. He just got enrolled and  _then_  Mr. Jackson decided to make him go to the back? What did he do?

Whispers started to follow him, but they weren't about his tardiness. "Heard he's an Air Spirit...Can you believe it? A Sylph, in our school?...Think he's any good at dodgeball?"

He sat next to the black-haired boy he had seen earlier, who had abandoned his skinny friend. Alfred stuck out a hand, willing that it wouldn't go transparent. "Alfred."

The boy just gave him a weird look, but he shook his hand nonetheless. "Kiku. Why were you late? Latin is only a few minutes away from History?"

Alfred, who hadn't quite recovered from the sprint, replied in a breathy, panting voice, "Um, this kid named Feliciano?"

Kiku nodded sympathetically. "I know what you mean. Last year he kept we waiting for thirty minutes just to get into the lunch line. It was awful. So, since we're expected to be partners, how's your Latin?"

Alfred made a weird face. "Ego sum pulchellus malus."

Kiku chuckled, which he quickly muffled in a hand. "Nolite omni est. Suus 'pars ex genere."

"What?"

"I said, 'do not worry, everyone else is too. It's a part of the class.'".

"Ah," Alfred dug around in his bag for a harpy quill. "Dammit it, I keep forgetting my quill."

"I have an extra, you can use it today. Give it back at the end of the hour." Kiku handed him a stark black quill.

"Alright, class, this is Latin. Does anyone know Latin? No one?" Mr. Jackson smirked as he sped on. He hadn't paused to see if anyone actually knew the language. Kiku made a scoffing noise.

"What?" Alfred asked. Kiku scowled.

"He never allows people who can speak the language to participate. But then he yells at us when we don't. It's irritating." Kiku made a weird motion with his hands. Alfred flexed his fingers, more out of habit than anything else.

Latin was disappointing, to say the least. Mr. Jackson insisted on calling random people to the blackboard, telling them to write a simple sentence, and then getting annoyed himself when they couldn't do it.

"You haven't told us conjunctions yet," one student, who had bat wings and hooves, complained. "How am I supposed to write something?"

Mr. Jackson rolled his eyes and told the student to be quiet. "Just write your sentence, DeWitt, and maybe your grade will improve."

DeWitt stuttered and tried to write something. He didn't turn red, but his cheeks turned a nasty shade of greenish-gray. Alfred caught another smirk from the teacher, and his sympathy for the teacher's facial troubles vanished. When the period ended, he handed Kiku's quill back to him then stood up and walked away, too angry for words. In his fury, he didn't notice the ice crystals forming in his fists, an inpenetrable armor crackling and rising up his arms.

"Easy," Arthur said, appearing by his side. "Killing a teacher is considered an offense by many of the staff, not to mention the Council."

Alfred noticed the chainmail being created and dismissed the moisture, where it returned to the air. Arthur gave him a small smile.

"It's not every day the students here get to see a Sylph angry. I'd recommend that you relax."

Alfred glanced around quickly, and he saw that half the student body around him were covered in ice and shivering. He released them, every one of them giving him a glare. His cheeks reddened again. "Whoops."

"I daresay you might have a problem," Arthur teased. "Don't worry, you're not the only one to get angry. I think I almost drowned someone when they got me angry."

" _Almost?"_ Someone spoke behind them. "I nearly got suffocated."

Arthur stiffened. "Hello, Francis."

The blond boy strutted up to the two, eyeing Alfred. "So you're the newbie. Gotta say, you're better looking than I expected. Nice catch, Arthur."

The boy mentioned sputtered, while Alfred just stared. Francis gave a graceful shrug. "Arthur here tried to drown me once. I think I touched him somewhere? I forget the details."

"You grabbed my crotch, you arse!" Arthur said, blushing at the memory.

"And you went transformed into a horse and stomped on my face!" Francis snapped back. Alfred started cracking up, while the two bickered.

"Just because you're undead doesn't mean I'll kill you again!"

"You really think you can kill me?" Francis got all up in Arthur's face.

"Just because you're dead and French doesn't mean you can go around molesting people!" Arthur shoved him back.

"Just because I  _maybe_  touched you somewhere 'doesn't mean' you can turn into a horse and stomp on people's faces!"

"Come on," a voice at Alfred's shoulder said. "They'll be there all hour, arguing." Alfred lurched six feet in the air, then floated back down as he realized who it was.

"Hey, Kiku. You really shouldn't sneak up on people like that." Alfred brushed off a piece of frost on his shoulder.

"What class do you have next?" Kiku asked suddenly.

"Um, English?" Alfred pulled out his schedule again. "No, wait, it's Chemistry. What is 'Defensive Theory and Training'?"

Kiku grimaced as he saw Alfred's schedule. "He definitely wanted you able to protect yourself, you've got PE and DTT all year. They're basically self-defense and attack classes, only the best get in there. It's for people who have certain talents or are a species that is 'at risk'."

"Oh. Are you in Chemistry next too?"

Kiku nodded. "Let's go, I doubt Arthur and Francis will stop fighting anytime soon, they both have a free period right now."

Together, they walked, Alfred studiously ignoring the stares that followed him. The Chemistry classroom, unlike the others, had muddy brown walls stained with splatters every color of the rainbow. Everyone there was copying down notes already, though the bell hadn't rung. Alfred spotted a table with no one on it and hastily took it before someone else could. The teacher smiled at them, then she turned to the blackboard.

"That's Mrs. O'Flannegan. She's a great teacher, but strict," Kiku whispered. "Nobody really knows what she is. She always looks completely human. It freaks everyone out."

Somehow, the fact that Kiku had used slang with a completely straight face, when he was always so composed, made Alfred want to laugh.

"I see," he said, smiling. Mrs. O'Flannegan sent a stare at them, and he fell silent. The notes on the board seemed to be written in gibberish.

_If unicorn hair, mixed with blood of Salamander and an eye of a newt, is boiled at midnight in the light of a waning moon in November, what will be the result?_

Everyone was dutifully writing down the question, and Alfred copied them. He started to stare out into the distance when Mrs. O'Flannegan cleared her throat and addressed him.

"Mr. Jones- I hope you do not mind I call you by your surname, your twin is just like you in appearance, and it might help." At his nod, she continued, her voice clear and low-pitched. "Do you not know the answer?"

"No, I don't know it."

Mrs. O'Flannegan, unexpectedly, grinned. "No one does. It hasn't been tested yet. That's why we're going to do a stimulation here. Class, put away your notebooks."

There was a general shuffle as everyone arranged themselves and put away items. After flicking a switch and putting a blood filled beaker on a burner, she added a couple hairs and an eye.

A huge bang frightened everyone. Kiku fell out of his chair. Mrs. O'Flannegan's red hair was blasted backward, and Alfred let out a curse. The rest of the classroom was generally in disarray. Then, impossibly, Kiku started to laugh. It went on and on, and Alfred joined in, and in the confusion everyone else felt, there was amusement. Even the teacher chuckled.

The screeching cry arose again, and Mrs. O'Flannegan smiled as everyone gathered their bags and notebooks. "See you tomorrow!"

Alfred managed to stumble into the hallway, leaning against a wall as giggles still wracked his body. "That was fantastic!"

Kiku had somehow composed himself, but the ghost of a smile still lingered. "See you later, Alfred."

Alfred walked to lunch, feeling a stab of hunger.  _Goddamn._ He saw Ivan standing by the door in his coat, scanning his surroundings, and he waved frantically until the larger noticed him. When violet eyes landed on him, he walked over, grinning.

"What are you smiling about?" Ivan asked grumpily.

"Chemistry was interesting. What are  _you_  frowning about?"

"That Jackson is an idiot. He tries to say I don't know Latin, but when I prove it he dismisses it. It's irritating." Ivan ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "We haven't even moved to numbers, we're still so stuck on greetings. I bet even  _you_  could teach Latin better than he could."

"I don't know Latin!"

"Exactly. Are you going to eat or just waiting for something?" The ivory-haired boy looked down on him until Alfred got over it and floated a few inches upward. There. they were eye-level. "Does that make you feel better if you're not touching the ground? I assure you, they do sweep the floors."

"I'm just trying to keep you from looking down on me. And I was wondering if you wanted to eat together."

"I'm waiting for Natalya, but I think she'll be fine with you joining us. Are you planning to get into a relationship that is more than friendship with me or my sisters?"

Alfred had never heard a question like that before. At Le Crete, he was just an average dude, with average (not that he would ever say that to their faces) friends. Now he had to answer weird questions. "Um, no? We literally just met, why the hell would I want to get into a relationship other than friendship already? I barely even know what you like."

Ivan looked satisfied with that answer. "OK. And I like sunflowers, vodka, my sisters, and human literature."

"Good to know," Alfred glanced around. The line to lunch was thinning. "I'm gonna go get something. You coming?"

"No, I have something to eat. See you."

Alfred waved and started for the line. Halfway there he was stopped by a brunette waving a steak knife.

"So," she asked, "what do you want with my brother?"


	2. Chapter 2

He stared hard at the boy, already tired of him. The blue-eyed child kept blubbering about a 'Society', but he had no time for such nonsense. It was a low point of anyone to cry under interrogation, but to beg? Pathetic.

"SHUT UP!" he roared. "You pathetic child! I should kill you for your cowardice!"

The boy stopped weeping, looking terrified of the monster standing a few feet away, skeletal and murderous. An attendant stuck his head in the doorway.

"Uh, Major, could you keep it down?"

Major nodded fiercely and the attendent left. "Tell me, how did you learn of the Omniscient? Who told you? How did you get to the Inbetween?"

The boy shook his head, his eyes wild. Major held back a snarl. It wouldn't do to snarl. Then the boy wouldn't tell him anything. He reined in his anger and replaced it with a cool indifference.

"The Council summons you," a voice intoned behind Major. He whirled around, eyes glittering darkly. The speaker, a wizard in blue garb, looked panicked for a fraction of a second, then relaxed into passive smiling.

"I am busy."

"It's an emergency, they say. I don't know anything else."

Major muttered a low curse under his breath, then followed the wizard to the hall where the Council resided. It had a low ceiling and it's walls were made of the bones of the people the Council had once employed.

"Good evening," the Council said in its voice. The members had all decided to merge when they had formed, and the result was a hideous mass of darkness that practically crackled with magic. Major wanted to drool.

"We have summoned you for a reason. You are dismissed from your current position and elevated to General. We have a task for you. Find the Sylph. It is imperative you find him, before the Icarus Society does. They will use him for their own purposes, and we fear it will be the death of us all. Find him, General, before it is too late."

All that time, their voice stayed melodic and lilting, like they were discussing a common occurence. He clicked his heels and left, ready to find this Sylph.

But first, he had to deal with the sobbing boy.

He walked back to the room, his shoes clacking against the rough stones that made up the floor. Slamming past two officials whose names he could never remember, he entered the room, eyes blazing.

"Who is the Icarus Society? What are they trying to do?"

At these statements, the boy started shuddering against the chair he was tied to.

"I don't know what they're doing," he sobbed, eyes wide and tears flowing freely down his face. "I just got approached by this guy named Allistor. He said he could cure the Blood Sickness. I didn't know how he could do it, but he had yellow eyes and these clawed hands. And he said he was from this thing, the Icarus Society. That's all I know, really! I said no, but he kept pushing and then he eventually left."

General smiled a cracked grin. Raising a clawed hand, he sliced the boy's throat and watched the blood run down. It coated the white shirt the boy wore.

Leaning down, he thought about how good the boy would taste.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred stared warily at the knife, which Natalya held like a battle weapon. Little spots of brown decorated the blade. He gulped. "I just wanna be friends with him. That's all, I swear."

She looked confused, then she put away the knife. Then she stuck out her hand. "Natalya Braginsky, Undine."

He followed suit, feeling a bit bemused. "Alfred Jones, Sylph."

She looked at him in wonder for a moment. "So you're the Air Spirit. Interesting. Well, my brother is this way. Do you need anything to eat?"

Alfred blinked rapidly. The sudden change is personality unnerved him. And the knife-wielding had chased away all appetite. "I'm good, thanks."

"Suit yourself." Natalya walked to a table in the very corner of the cafeteria. Even as a new kid, Alfred could tell it was a prime spot. No blinding light was shed on it, it was in a cooler place for the warmer months, and it was roomy. He wondered how the Braginsky's managed to keep the table, when envious looks were constantly cast upon it.

Ivan was sitting there with Natalya and a big-breasted woman whose name eluded Alfred. "Hello, Alfred."

Natalya looked stonily at Alfred, not saying a word. The woman beside them both smiled at him. "Hi! You must be Alfred. I'm Katyusha, a Succubus."

Alfred stuck a hand out, feeling a bit bemused. It wasn't every day you met a Succubus, and even rarer when you found one that wasn't super perverted and willing to do anything to get sex. "Nice to meet you. Hey, Ivan."

Ivan gave a very frosty smile and Katyusha returned the handshake he offered.

"So," Katyusha said, breaking the ice, "what brings you to the Academy? It's not every day you see a Lost return to the Forgotten, or even go to the Academy."

Alfred rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "I enrolled to get away from the orphanges I was always in. Le Crete's a decent school, but here's way better, though Mr. Jackson's not the best."

"I agree," Natalya said, speaking up. "He's a hell-awful teacher."

This was surprising, but Ivan saw the confused look on Alfred's face and elaborated. "We've all been here for years, so we basically know everything about the Academy. Jackson's been here longer than any of us, and it's a wonder how he hasn't gotten fired."

Arthur's words played back in Alfred's head. Demon attack. The fool tried to summon a Prince of Hell, look where that got him. Alfred held back a shudder.

"Why's he still here if he's so bad? I thought that General guy only wanted the best of the best."

"He did," Natalya cut in, "but the General is not high and mighty. He can be bribed like anyone else."

"And that," Katyusha finished, "is why his wounds have never healed. They are curse wounds, I've seen dozens like it. The Prince cursed him with wounds that only worsen when he starts to bribe someone. I think the curse was for killing the Prince's son and trying to sell his bones illegally."

Alfred felt chilly. He looked out the windows of the cafeteria, feeling both pity and disgust for Jackson. "Wow."

"Yes," Ivan said, a weird look on his face. Was it...pity? Revulsion? Alfred couldn't tell. "So, Alfred, what class do you have next?"

"Um," Alfred replied, digging around for his schedule. "Defensive Theory."

Ivan grimaced. "That's difficult, especially if you've never taken it before. And since you're new..."

"What?" Alfred asked, feeling a bit of anxiety.

"It's just that the teacher doesn't make any exceptions, even for new people like you. You just jump right in, and it's especially hard at the beginning of the year." Ivan rubbed the back of his neck. "You're going to get pounded."

Alfred gave a weak smile and didn't talk for the rest of lunch. The screech arose again, and he departed for Defensive Theory, more than a little nervous.

Arriving there, he saw a plethora of weapons, at least twenty dummies, and a teacher who had red eyes, horns and stared daggers.

"So, Alfred Jones, huh?" The teacher asked gruffly. "I'm Mr. Duboe. I answer to 'Mr. Duboe', 'sir', 'DUBOE', and 'Coach'. Got it?"

Alfred nodded frantically. Mr. Duboe turned around, blowing a whistle that had mysteriously appeared in his hand. "KIRKLAND! Get your lazy butt over here!"

Arthur jogged over, outfitted in black shorts and tank top. "Yeah, Coach?"

"School young Jones here on weapon mechanics. I want him able to swing a sword and fight well enough to take you on."

"Yes, sir." Arthur grabbed Alfred's arm and dragged him to an empty corner. Grabbing six swords off the wall, he tested each of them on a dummy before setting them down.

"So, a sword is all about balance and sharpness. If you can swing a sword without it being too light or too heavy, and it is always sharp, you can use it. It's all about balance and force. Keep your feet apart, and focuson how the blade feels." He handed a gold-colored sword to Alfred. "Now swing it, and see how it feels."

Alfred swung the sword, and it seemed to fly out of his hand like a feather, embedding itself in the wall behind him. "Nope."

Arthur scowled. "Try this one."

It was a heavy silver blade engraved with runes. Alfred examined them with interest before he started to swing. "What do the runes mean?"

"They're hieroglyphics, and I believe it means 'only the brightest'. Something about having a pure enough soul to wield it." Arthur nudged at Alfred's foot. "Feet apart, put your non-dominant behind you."

Alfred followed his instructions and raised the sword. It felt too weird in his hand, but he took an experimental swing. It was a mistake.

The sword clattered to the ground when it hit the dummy, the pain rushing up his arm. "Shit!"

Arthur smirked slightly. "Definitely not this one. Maybe bronze is your color?"

He picked up a bronze sword that curved slightly. "Bronze isn't really the best for weapons, but since you're a beginner, it should be a decent practice. If not, we can always try the sapphire and the emerald swords. Perhaps amethyst?"

Alfred took it, spreading his feet apart and testing how the sword felt in his hand. It still didn't feel right, but he wanted to try anyway. He swung yet again.

The blade was stabbed right through the dummy, buried to the hilt. Alfred's arm shook with the force of the impact. He let go of the sword. "That didn't feel right. The grip was all wonky."

Arthur nodded sagely. "The swords here are meant for a wide variety of users. It's not surprising that you don't fit any of them. Can you make a sword of ice?"

Startled by the question, Alfred nodded. "I'll need some moisture, but I think I could do it."

Arthur smiled. "Amazing." Then he dragged Alfred to a water fountain. "Let's go."

Alfred concentrated on the moisture within the fountain and focused on making ice. It started shuddering, but he eventually formed a blade, then a hilt, then a handle. He collapsed with the effort, the completed work clattering to the floor beside him. Arthur tested the blade.

"It's a little dull, but it'll be easy to sharpen. Come on, get up, we've got stuff to do."

Dimly, Alfred wondered why he had to deal with Defensive Theory for two hours a day. Then he rose shakily and took the sword from Arthur. It felt perfect, the ice blue blade thin and strong. He grinned. "Awesome!"

They traveled back to the corner, Alfred practically skipping. When he stabbed at the dummy again, the blade was struck through the straw, and his arm barely rattled.

"And now," Arthur said, "to fight." He grabbed two wooden swords from the wall and handed one to Alfred. "Remember what I told you."

And so it began. For fifty minutes, Arthur bloodied and bruised Alfred, who was reduced to being intangible just to block an attack. He could just barely raise the sword, and when he was at last tangible, Arthur spun around him and kicked him the back. He toppled.

"And that," Arthur panted, 'is how you fight. Keep balanced and use every ability to your advantage."

Alfred could only nod, too tired to even speak. He pushed himself up and trudged to the lockers that lined the wall. Finding his own (#23) and putting in the combination, he grinned a little to himself. He barely even registered it when Mr. Duboe appeared next to him.

"Jones, that was a good fight. I think you'll be a good fighter. A little practice and maybe sharpen that sword of yours, and you'll be great!" His criticism was gratifying, but Alfred was too tired to really talk.

"Thanks, Mr. Duboe. I'm really tired, so..." He yawned, suddenly sleepy. "I need to go to bed."

Mr. Duboe laughed. "I suppose so. Goodbye, Jones."

Alfred didn't notice how Mr. Duboe's eyes followed him, and how Ivan and Arthur frowned when they saw him leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylph: an elemental. They are actually beautiful young women, their tasks making snowflakes. But in here, Alfred can control the weather and moisture in the air.
> 
> Halcyon: A bird from Greek mythology. They are not able to control the weather, and are actually stuck in bird form but...*shrugs*.
> 
> Each Uisge: A being similar to a Kelpie. They are actually much worse than Kelpies, and they live in areas that have salty water, such as bays. They can use magic to some degree, which I'll explain later in the story. They feed on humans, eating all except the liver.
> 
> Skinwalker: A humanoid from Native American and Norse mythology. They are able to transform into humans or animals at will, are able to put curses on people, and have great strength and ferocity. Ivan is a mix of the two skinwalkers, as he has abilities that match both of the mythologies.
> 
> Undine: An elemental. They are spirits of the water, and they are generally really pretty. They can also put curses on people, such as the Undine who cursed a man who cheated on her to die if he ever slept again.
> 
> Succubus: A sexual demon. Saps life force from humans.
> 
> Vrylolkas (what Francis is): Essentially a zombie. They are made after their person is not buried or mourned properly.
> 
> Tsuchigumo (Kiku): Spider demon from Japanese mythology. They can spin illusions and are able to transform into other things. Kiku has a spider shaped shadow.
> 
> Alseid: A nymph of a grove.
> 
> Golem: Humanoids made by wizards. They are usually pretty violent, and it is damn near impossible to beat them. The lore on them varies somewhat. Some say that erasing a part of the word on their forhead will usually kill them.
> 
> The realms are basically sandwiched together, the Fire Land on top, the Forgotten on bottom.
> 
> The Fire Land is the human realm. It is usually too bright and pure for monsters, so they only go there when absolutely necessary. The Inbetween is the realm between the Fire Land and the Forgotten. It is essentially a weird little portal. The Forgotten is where monsters are. There is no sun, only a moon, and it is ruled by the Council (which will be explained later).
> 
> Have fun reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred groaned as he flopped on the bed. "I'm never gonna do that again."

Matthew looked up from his book (Latin and Its Uses in Everyday Life) and looked him over. "You look terrible."

"Shut up," Alfred retorted, sitting up. "You don't have Defensive Theory. And I look fantastic, thanks."

"Happy to be of use," Matthew noted dryly. He returned to the book, tossing a paperback to Alfred. "Here's a little soul food."

Alfred caught it and read the cover. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. "Hell, Mattie, you're a demon-send." He collapsed on the bed and started rereading the novel again. "Do we have any homework?"

Matthew rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. "No. Do you even pay attention in class?"

"Sometimes," Alfred drawled with a horrible Southern accent. Then he chuckled. "Yeah, but that Jackson dude is absolutely horrible."

"Agreed," Matthew admitted, and Alfred sat up in suprise. It was rare for Matthew to even think of criticizing a teacher, but for him to directly agree...Alfred stared at him. Then he leaned forward, looking Matthew over. "Are you even my brother?"

Matthew snorted at him. "Yes, you nitwit. I was the one who always tripped you in the hallways, remember?"

"Alright," Alfred conceded. "So are you really my brother. But I'll keep an eye on you."

He pointed a finger at Matthew and mimed putting on sunglasses. Matthew shrugged apathetically. "Whatever."

Rolling over, Alfred shut his eyes and tried to sleep. Hours later, he was awoken by a screaming nightmare.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Not tonight! Matthew thought to himself as Alfred flew off the bed, knocking his head on the bedframe.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" Alfred cried out. "That flipping hurt!"

"I imagine it did, you practically smashed yourself," Matthew declared, relieved that Alfred had recovered. Sometimes his nightmares could leave him shivering and unable to wake up. It scared him to Hell and back when that happened.

"Go screw yourself," Alfred nearly hollered.

Matthew slapped a hand to his forehead and checked the time. 6:46 a.m. Cursing slightly, he slid on jeans and a pale blue shirt over his boxers and tank top. Pausing to grab a navy flannel, he flipped Alfred off before heading to breakfast. His brother probably needed some time alone.

The walk across the grounds was chilly, Matthew wishing it was midwinter instead of early spring. It always was horrible. He scowled as his Converse (stolen from the Fire Land when he was fifteen) got soaked by the morning dew. Instead of a warm cafeteria, he was blasted with cold air as a transparent ghost ran through him. Shivering, he ordered a steaming cup of tea and looked around for a place to sit.

The attendants there, already looking worn out, made his tea with a distinct air of unhappiness. When the steaming cup was passed over, his "thank you" wasn't even acknowledged, a rare thing. Matthew had talked to Feliciano, and the Alseid had said they were always very happy when they were told "thanks".

"Hey, are you guys okay?" he inquired. The closest one looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

"They took Rose."

"What?" Matthew was honestly confused. Who was Rose? Who took her? The lady, to his horror, started bawling.

"They took my daughter, Rose! I have no idea where she went, and she said goodnight to me just last evening! She was here!"

Matthew dropped his tea, and the almost boiling liquid splashed over his shoes, but he barely cared. "That's awful! Do you know who it was?"

"No," she wailed. "the General doesn't care either." At this, Matthew pushed open the door to the kitchen, not noticing the stares he was given. He wrapped the woman in his arms and held her as she cried.

"I-t's horrible," she hiccuped. "Rose was perfectly alright, t-too, I don't know how they took her."

He rubbed her back soothingly, and he tried to reassure her. " The General's got to care somewhat, and if he doesn't, I'll look for her myself. It's not right to just let her get taken without trying to look for her."

She smiled weakly. "You're too kind. Not everyone is willing to do that for people they don't even know. My name is Hannah."

"Matthew," he replied, shaking her hand. He released her, and she wiped her face with a nearby tissue.

"Well, I think that good long cry helped me feel better. Thank you, Matthew." She suddenly grinned. "And I'm going to talk to the General again. You're right, it's wrong to not try to find her."

Hannah marched out of the kitchen, filled with purpose. The corner of Matthew's lip turned up.

The other ladies in the kitchen took a look at his shoes and gave him a new cup of tea.

"Thanks, kid," one called from her position at the counter. "She really needed that."

Matthew's face split in a happy grin and hers did too. "I'm glad I could be of help. But I think I'll just drink my tea."

"Suit yourself," she answered.

He left and found an empty table in the corner. Moments later, he was joined by that wolf-eared pale guy he had seen in History.

"Mornin'," the werewolf said, smiling slightly. "How are you?"

"Who are you?" Matthew asked, a little too tired to care about manners. The werewolf fake-swooned and acted as though Matthew had shot him through the chest. Which Matthew considered.

"You do not know the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt? I am wounded!" Gilbert continued. "It breaks my furry little heart to know so."

"Fuck off," Matthew retorted, sipping his tea.

"Oh, I see how it is. You are annoyed by the amazing Gilbert! I am shocked!"

Ludwig suddenly appeared by Gilbert and smacked him upside the head. "Stop it. Hello, Matthew."

"Good morning, Ludwig," Matthew took a long drink as Gilbert and Ludwig argued.

"Don't start assaulting people like that-"

"-just because you're getting that Italian dick-"

The argument was interrupted as Matthew started choking on his tea. He spewed everywhere as he started laughing. "Oh, my hell. You and Feliciano are dating? This is just too rich!"

Ludwig looked surprised, but Gilbert just smiled wider. "I win."

Ludwig smacked Gilbert again. "For the record, I'm not 'getting'-"

"Right, and I'm the Queen of the Inbetween! For hell's sake, Ludwig, at least admit you're dating!" Gilbert snorted. Ludwig made a move to smack him again and he ducked the oncoming blow, somehow slamming his forehead into the table's edge.

"Son of a-"

"I hope you weren't about to curse," a quiet, threating voice leered above them all. They looked up to see Mr. Jackson, whose cuts looked fresh. "It's breaking school rules, Beilschmidt."

In an instant, all of Gilbert, Ludwig, and Matthew's good attitudes were gone. Jackson left, smirking.

"Who the hell does he think he is?" Gilbert seethed. "He's just a jacked-up little douche-"

Ludwig placed a hand strategically on Gilbert's shoulder. "Easy."

"He is a jerk, though," Matthew spoke up, "it wouldn't surprise me if he did summon a Prince. He's got that swagger to him."

"Swagger?" Ludwig and Gilbert asked in unison.

"Never mind. He has that attitude." Matthew rolled his eyes at himself. He had a habit of using Fire Land slang. The last time he called someone a whiffle-waffle (meaning a time-waster), he got a what-the-hell-are-you-on look.

"Oh, okay. I get it." Gilbert waved his hands in the air vaguely. Matthew smirked. "So I see."

Meanwhile, Alfred was tripping down the stairs two at a time. He wasn't even trying to control his powers, letting the ice crackle around him. Stupid Jackson. Stupid Matthew. Stupid nightmare.

He slammed into a black dog, toppling them both. He found himself assaulted with the sound of rattling chains and a scowl that seemed to be even colder than theice around him.

"Watch it, dumbass." The black dog had transformed into a blond boy with hair that stuck up. The blue flame around his head still hovered.

"Sorry," Alfred drawled. "Didn't realize it was my job to constantly watch out."

As a tired, sore, and all together crabby Sylph, it was a wonder he wasn't punched. The ice continued to spread up his arms. The blond just continued scowling, probably waiting for an apology. He wouldn't get one.

Dimly, Alfred wondered what they were going to do next besides stare at each other. He fell back on an old standby.

"So, do you like bread?"

The question, so ridiculous and random, managed to have the other stumbling for an answer.

"Um, sure."

"That's amazing," Alfred babbled. "I personally like white bread, ooh, what's your name? I'm Alfred, it's great to meet you. And I like rye, but it's sometimes not really great."

"Matthias," came the reply. "So you're that Sylph. Lovely. I was expecting something more...female."

"Nah, we're as cool as they come." Alfred pushed past Matthias and sped down the hallway. "See you later!"

He started chuckling to himself, narrowly dodging a frowning vampire. He was starving, dammit, and he needed some food. Like, right now. Like, before he went rabid. the cafeteria wasn't close enough. He burst through the door and...

Found a smiling Mattie and two laughing guys. Alfred felt a little twang in his chest. He was happy Matthew was getting friends, but he worried that he would be left.

He wouldn't leave you, idiot. He's your twin. It was that scoffing voice that comforted Alfred. He sprinted to the kitchen and quickly ordered a large breakfast.

"Three eggs, all scrambled, five pieces of sausage, six pieces of bacon, two pancakes, three slices of toast, and a glass of orange juice please."

The ladies in the kitchen gave him a strange look. One asked, with a Scottish accent, "Are you okay, kid?"

But he was served anyway, and he made his way over to where Mattie was sitting.

All three there gave his tray a double take. The super-pale guy, whose mouth was practically a fly trap, smirked at the large meal.

"Would you like some fries with that?"

"Go fuck yourself," was the uttered answer. The pale one laughed.

"So, yet another one like me! Gilbert," he introduced himself. Alfred, pausing in his scarfing of the food, replied.

"Alfred."

"So you're the fucking Sylph." The comment made Alfred really irritated. It was as if the fact that he was a Sylph defined him. He rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"Yeah, I'm the fucking Sylph." Alfred retorted. "What are you, a furry?"

Gilbert took the insult as a compliment, somehow. He waved over a blond, who Alfred recognised to be Francis. "I'm a werewolf, get it right."

"Same thing." Francis said, sliding next to Matthew and giving the uncomfortable boy a appreciative once-over. "So, Alfred, would you like a little plate with your food?"

"Would you like my foot rammed down your throat?" Arthur asked, joining the party. "He's made of air, leave the princess alone. Scooch."

Alfrred moved himself to let Arthur in. "I'm not a fricking princess, go to hell."

"Priiiiiiinces Alfred, oh Priiiiiiiincess Alfred, why must you torture us so~" Francis sang while Matthew spit out his tea and Alfred choked on his OJ. "Priiiiiiiiincess Alfred, oh, Priiiiiiiiincess Alfred, you give me so much woe..."

"Oh, Priiiiiiiiincess Alfred, Priiiiiiiiiincess Alfred," Gilbert joined in. "You are the cause of my woe...Oh! Priiiiiiincess Alfred, Priiiiiiiiincess Alfred, why won't you ever go?"

Alfred discreetly formed two pieces of ice and casually shoved them in Francis and Gilbert's throats. They stopped singing immediately, mostly because of the ice lodged in their windpipes. He pulled them out when they started to grab their mouths. "Karma, ass-hats."

"That was slightly excessive," Ludwig commented as the two massaged their throats. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"I'm not agreeing," Arthur said, eyeing Francis. "It sometimes takes a lot just to get those two arses to quit."

"So, Francis," Alfred settled on changing the subject, "since you're dead, how are you with what you used to like?"

"Oh, mon ami, you have no idea! I used to be a prominent fashion icon in the Fire Land, until, alas! I died. I don't really care that much for what I used to like. It's difficult, you know, keeping your old likes and dislikes when you're dead. I used to absolutely despise this one person, but I couldn't care less now. My appearance is still a priority." He flipped his hair over his shoulder.

"Whatever," Arthur joked. "I can still see the rot underneath all that foundation."

Francis squeaked as he frantically patted his face. Then he relaxed and casually smacked Arthur. "Don't even try. I use waterproof makeup. It's a bitch to even smudge."

The screeching cry startled everyone. Francis accidentally caught Matthew and they fell in a mess of limbs. Arthur punched Alfred in surprise, who let out a squeal. Ludwig made a loud shrill sound, and Gilbert let out a yelp. All three of them would deny those noises later, but for now they were grabbing random items, pushing themselves of each other, and hastily trying to shove the last of the food in their mouths (Alfred).

"Bye!" Gilbert yelled as he sprinted to his next class. Francis just shook his head and walked out. Arthur, who had mysteriously managed to grab a cup of tea (where was that from?), pulled Alfred and Matthew up, and yanked them to History. They arrived two minutes early, completely unprepared.

Mrs. Horal (or, as Alfred now called her, Umbridge) scowled at their empty hands. "Go sit down."

Alfred hurried to the back of the classroom, nauseous from the run. Ivan was sitting there, rubbing his hands together wearily. "Hello, Alfred."

"G'mornin', Ivan." Alfred placed his head in his arms on the table. He was too tired to even reply properly. Ivan noticed bruises on his wrist and whistled lowly.

"Arthur didn't hold back, did he?"

Alfred shoved his sleeve farther down and groaned. "He wasn't. I thought he could whip me more than he did."

Ivan laughed, a deep, comforting sound. "No, that's Arthur for you. He hasn't transformed in front of you yet, huh? It's always hilarious when he turns into a horse and beats someone's ass."

"Thanks for the reassurance. Remind me to sharpen my sword for battle. The treasure awaits!" The sarcasm was lost in the folds of Alfred's sweatshirt, where he had buried himself.

"Oh, shut up," Ivan proclaimed grandly. "I am Lord Alfred, and I shall ride my bright steed-"

Alfred's hand flew up and smacked Ivan lightly. "I read Tennyson, you dick. Quit."

Ivan stared at the huddled lump that was Alfred. "How do you know human literature? No one is supposed to," he whispered.

Alfred raised himself up and smirked at Ivan. "I have my ways."

The rest of History passed in a blaze of thrown snowballs and smacking of binders. Umbridge didn't notice, her eyes never once traveling from the textbook she was droning on from. Alfred stopped his barrage of snowballs when Ivan dropped his binders and lowered himself to one knee.

"Oh, you have beaten me, Lord. How shall I ever be worthy?!" Ivan lamented sarcastically. "My heart breaks, for I shall never be as bright as you!"

Alfred, in one quick movement, pulled up Ivan's collar, summoned a large piece of ice, and shoved it down into the coat. The effect was immediate.

Ivan lurched upwards, his fingers scrabbling for the piece of frozen water. He turned around in circles, trying to get the ice from his back. Alfred started crying with laughter.

"Get it out, get it out, get it out!"

The ice eventually melted, but Ivan still glared at Alfred. "Not funny."

Alfred had tear tracks all over his face. A puddle had formed from where he had actually had to lie on the ground to help stop his giggling. "Are you kidding? That was fucking hilarious."

Ivan scowled. "It's not like I was being all panicked..."

"Yes," Alfred affirmed, "it was."


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred groaned as he was knocked to the floor again. "Can't we quit? It's been two hours, you jerk!"

Arthur shook his head and smacked him softly with the wooden sword. "No, we can't, so suck it up! You are, whether you realize it or not, a very valuable item on the black market, and there are people who would pay good money to get their grubby mitts on you."

"It's always flattering to know you're worth something on the black market," Alfred joked tiredly. Arthur scowled.

"Shut up and try again."

In his absolute misery and exhaustion, Alfred grabbed the sword made of ice. Arthur barely noticed, too preoccupied with checking Alfred's balance. The latter felt a burst of cool energy, which made him stand straighter.

"Begin!"

At this, Alfred dove forward, the blade singing joyously in the air. Arthur blocked his attack and feinted a stab before sweeping his sword toward Alfred's feet. Alfred, with strength he didn't know he still had, jumped in the air and slashed, slicing a hole in Arthur's shirt. His eyes widened for a second, then he hit the ground, rolling hard from the impact. Arthur took this moment of weakness as an opportunity, and he stabbed downward.

A weary block, much more forceful than intended, shattered the wooden sword. Splinters flew everywhere, and the icy blade in Alfred's hand seemed to hum with satisfaction. There, the sword whispered, we have beaten them.

Arthur was staring in shock at the fragments of sword left in his body and clothes. He held up the remains of the hilt and gaped like a fish.

Mr. Duboe wandered over, and, upon seeing the pieces of the wood and Alfred lying there confused and covered in splinters, started cackling. His laugh was deep, and he snorted at the beginning of each breath. "Get your shit together, Kirkland. Good job, Jones, just use a wooden sword next time."

Arthur started, then he shook out his head like a dog and started picking fragments from his skin. He winced when one had embedded itself with a barb, Mr. Duboe long gone by then. Alfred was still paralysed in shock. A soft mantra of "holy shit, holy shit, holy shit" fell past his lips.

The entire room was silent. Everyone was watching the pair: Kiku with a look of appreciation, Mr. Duboe with scrutiny, Ivan with a weird look on his face. Alfred sat up. wondering what the hell he could do to remedy the situation.

Arthur laughed nervously. Then everyone looked away, the discomfort of all involved filling the air. Alfred gathered up the last of the pieces and threw them away.

"So, um, see you tomorrow?" Alfred asked Arthur.

"Yep," Arthur replied. Looking anywhere but at him. They walked off in separate directions, cringing with every step. Pausing in the hallway, Alfred leaned against the wall.

"Oh my Hades."

It was this sentence that suddenly lifted the awkwardness of the situation he was put in. He started giggling, his sides aching.

Oh my Hades, I just had the 'Uncomfortable Chick-Flick Moment'. If his father were there, he would be practically drilling holes in his grave. If there was one thing Samuel Williams hated, it was moments that were cliche. And the 'Uncomfortable Chick-Flick Moment' was pretty high on the list.

Alfred could remember when his father first admitted to him how much he hated times that were forced or nervous. And Alfred could relate.

"Alfred," Sam asked, his face earnest. "I've got something to tell you about me. You're open to me, so I'll be open to you. I hate uncomfortable moments."

"Ooh," Alfred said, blue eyes shining, "I don't like them either!"

"Yeah, no one does," his father laughed. "But the one I absolutely detest is the 'Uncomfortable Chick-Flick Moment."

"The what?"

"You know when you're talking to someone, and then you do something that is either really unusual or attention-getting, and then everyone is just staring at you?"

"Yep!"

"And then you can't figure out something to talk about afterward, and it's just forced or just really 'I don't know what to do'?"

"Yeah, Dad."

"That's the 'Uncomfortable Chick-Flick Moment."

Alfred smiled at the memory, but it was soon dimmed by his sadness. His dad had died almost a decade ago, but he still carried that little ball of sadness within. He couldn't even tell what Mattie was thinking half the time anymore.

He shoved the thoughts away, as usual. It wouldn't do to start bawling in the middle of a deserted hallway, despite the fact that no one would know. Or even suspect for that matter. Sylph tears just turned to snowflakes after they left their maker's cheeks. If anything, they would think someone just had a sporadic meltdown (ha, puns) and went beserk with snow.

Alfred shrugged his book bag on again, his bruised and sore shoulder protesting the three textbooks contained in there. He practically sprinted to his dorm, praying Mattie wouldn't be there.

He wasn't. Alfred collapsed on the bed, spread-eagled enough that all his muscles complained at being stretched. He snatched up the Harry Potter book and opened it to a random page, wanting a break from his thoughts.

Shove it away, Alfred, just shove it away. It'll be better in the morning. The old voice came back, and Alfred curled in a ball. His eyes fell on a sentence in the book. He read and reread the phrases, the words, his mind scrabbling for a distraction, any distraction.

"I know they don't," Harry said, "it was only a dream."

"Only a dream" was the words his tired brain bent its fingers on, its gnarled hands scratching the surface of blessed relief. Alfred fell into fitful sleep, and Matthew discovered him that way, tears still making their way down his face, even as his expression was peaceful.

Alfred awoke, disoriented. Matthew was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head against the frame. Startled awake by Alfred moving his leg, Matthew stretched, then looked at him in concern.

"Alfred-"

"Drop it, Matthew." Alfred was too tired to even try to talk.

"Alfred, you can't keep doing this!" Matthew exploded, his voice loud enough to be heard in the other room. Not that they knew at the time.

"Why not, Matthew!" Alfred was exhausted, and he was too dead (emotionally) to try and even react to the situation. They were due for an argument, and they both knew it.

"Because, you keep shutting off everyone who cares about you! I know Elizabeta and Antonio have sent you letters! I know about the freaking tree incident for hell's sake! Stop trying to push us away!"

"Like hell I'm going to start opening up about my shit! Because there is none!"

"You liar!" Matthew slid closer, and Alfred leaped off the bed.

"Just drop it, Matthew!"

"No, I won't!"

Ice crystals started forming in the room, icing over the walls and their items. Matthew's arm kept flickering between a wing and an arm. Alfred's ice armor began creating itself on his arms, inpenetrable as its master.

Without warning, Alfred pushed Matthew, slamming his brother against the wall. The ice crackled and fell, shattering on the floor, scattering everywhere. Alfred stalked out, his armor almost entirely made.

Alfred stomped out of the dormitory, his body covered. The dark blue armor seemed to hiss with him, a rhythm to his anger. The courtyard was empty, the March air chilly.

He sat down on a fountain, his eyes staring ahead blindly, furiously. He didn't register the pattering of feet, the quick look-over he recieved, or the warm arms that wrapped around him.

He jumped when a hand patted his own, Katyusha smiling sympathetically.

"Bad fight?"

"How did you know?" Alfred questioned wearily. To his surprise, she laughed.

"The entire dorm could hear you and your brother arguing. None of us wanted to break up he fight, as ice was forming on all the walls and our clothing. So we rode out the storm, so to speak."

Alfred buried his head in his arms and inhaled deeply.

"He's right, you know. Matthew. You shouldn't push everyone who cares about you away. If you do that, the people hurt aren't just you, but everyone who cares about you too. And you should always have someone to fall back on, whether it be your brother or a friend."

Slowly but surely, the ice began to melt away from Alfred, dripping away into glittering snowflakes. Katyusha smiled again, but it was sadder.

"My brother is like that. He pushes all of us away, from Natalya to our father. Maybe you two could help each other, you know? I haven't seen him smile in a long time, but you got him to be grinning like an idiot with a single snowball fight. That's admirable."'

Alfred felt hhis cheeks redden. She started giggling at the expression on his face, and soon they both were laughing.

But the happy moment was soon burst with the arrival of a girl, whose tear-streaked face soon made them serious again. Katyusha wiped the tears from her face and Alfred forced it into a serious face.

"What is it?" Katyusha asked the girl, who screwed up her face and sobbed harder at the question.

"David's gone! He just disappeared-"

"Wait a sec," Alfred interrupted. "Who's David?"

"My boyfriend!" she yowled. There was really no way to describe what she said other than a "yowl". "He's a centaur! He saw me last night and promised to check in in the morning, but he never did."

"It's okay, Ashley," Katyusha soothed. "I'm sure he's alright. Maybe he forgot? Or he's still asleep?"

Ashley shook her head. "No, he's not asleep. And he doesn't forget anything. He always wakes up at six in the morning."

Alfred was feeling like this was yet another disappearance. Matthew had told him about the lunch lady's daughter's mysterious disappearance. It seemed suspicious that two people, who completely acted like they were going to be there in the morning disappeared at night.

"Katyusha," Alfred said, "I think she's right. He did disappear."

Katyusha hugged the girl and sent her on her way, promising that she would check in on her

She turned to Alfred, her eyes heavy. "I think so too."


	6. Chapter 6

The heels of Hannah's simple flats clacked against the cobblestone floor. Her eyes darted everywhere, taking in the bloodstains and torn out chunks of wall lying haphazardly on the ground.

 _I think we are in rat's alley, where the dead men lost their bones_.

The quote, one she had learned from a book by a "T.S. Elliot" of the Fire Land, reverbrated in her mind as she walked down the hallway. She remembered all the literature she had found while wandering in the Inbetween.

_Every villain is a hero in his own mind. (1)_

She wondered how her daughter was faring. Her eyes shut for a moment, her last memory of Rose playing out in her head. The way her red hair danced, the sparkle in her green eyes...

_I knew nothing but shadows and I thought them to be real. (2)_

She arrived at the wooden door, marked with the name. She pushed it open, watching the red-haired man push away a paper.

"We had an appointment?"

"Ah, yes," the redhead replied in a lilting accent, his yellow eyes scanning her. He folded a set of manicured fingers, leaning forward.

"Good morning, Hannah."

"It's hardly the morning, Allistor," Hannah scoffed. "Where is my daughter?"

"Hannah, my dear, you can't possibly expect me to just  _hand her over_. The deal was to find the Sylph before the Council and their dogs do. And, she is such a lovely test subject. It pains me to tell you so, but you can't have your daughter until you find the Sylph. I am only a part of the Icarus Society, my good lady. I cannot convince them all."

"But why not? I had to cry just to get the Sylph's brother to talk to me! And even then, he didn't mention his brother. How do you expect me to get close to them?"

"Be a mentor," Allistor replied calmly. "I know the twins are without any relatives or guardians. Worm your way into their life. And then, when the time is right, we will strike. It is a patient game, Hannah, and you know that as well as I."

Hannah stewed in her anger for a moment. "And a beautiful world we live in, when it is possible, and when many other such things are possible, and not only possible, but done- done, see you!- under that sky there, every day."

" Dickens, Hannah?" Allistor chuckled, "I didn't know you were the type. If you insist on quotes, why don't I tell you this one, from Lord Tennyson. I think it is quite enchanting."

_He clasps the crag with crooked hands;_

_Close to the sun in lonely lands,_

_Ring'd with the azure world, he stands._

_The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;_

_He watches from his mountain walls,_

_And like a thunderbolt he falls. (3)_

"Lovely," Hannah voiced. "I think I heard him once, talking. He didn't notice me, of course, but what can you expect from a master?"

"Moving to business," Allistor said, straightening the green shirt he wore. "Now, of course, you know your mission? To get the brothers' trust? I do hope you won't fail. dear Hannah."

She stood up, staring at him like he was a repulsive insect she had squashed.

"Do take care of our child, Allistor, you know what I'm like when I get angry."

Hannah left. In her absence, Allistor let a sigh escape. He turned to a pocketwatch on the desk. Flicking it open, he eyed the red-haired girl contained within. Waving his fingers lazily, he released her voice, sweet as honeysuckle and yet as terrible as a hurricane.

_In the morning light he crawls,_

_The monster's hand rises and stalls,_

_The dew brighter than before,_

_Peace lasting,_

_It seems, f_ _orevermore,_

_And in that light, h_ _e treads,_

_And brings with him the cask of the dead. (4)_

"Oh, Rose," he whispered, listening. "Why are you so much your mother's child? Why couldn't you have left, left with me when you had the chance? You knew it wasn't a good choice."

Father and daughter murmured together the poem they both knew so well.

_It was many and many a year ago,_

_In a kingdom by the sea,_

_That a maiden there lived whom you may know_

_By the name of Annabel Lee;_

_And this maiden she lived with no other thought_

_Than to love and be loved by me._

I _was a child and_ she _was a child,_

_In this kingdom by the sea,_

_But we loved with a love that was more than love—_

_I and my Annabel Lee—_

_With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven_

_Coveted her and me. (5)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits to the quotes:
> 
> 1\. Tom Hiddleston, Actor
> 
> 2\. Oscar Wilde, Author
> 
> 3\. Lord Alfred Tennyson, Poet
> 
> 4\. That's my own poem made up on the fly.
> 
> 5\. Edgar Allen Poe, Author/Poet


	7. Chapter 7

Matthew threaded his fingers through themselves and leaned on them. The paper was blank in front of him, the lines fresh and unmarred by writing. He didn't know what to say to any of them. He started writing again.

Dear Antonio, he began.

Kitsune's fine, I think it's nice here. Alfred seems to be thriving, but I don't think it will last. He's gotten to be very touchy. We had a fight, and it got a bit out of hand. The entire dorm heard us! Alfred even made his ice armor. After hearing what he did to the wooden sword he was practicing with, I hate to imagine what would have happened had we continued.

He paused, doodling absently on the edge of the paper. Flowers and trees sprang to life under his pen. Then he resumed.

I've met some people. I know, how shocking, get over yourself. Grab a paper bag if you so wish. But get over it. There's Arthur, an Each Uisge, Gilbert, a werewolf, Ludwig, a Golem, and Francis, a Vrylolkas. They're all nice, so don't break speed records running here to check up on us. (We're fine.) And Alfred has some new friends too, one's named Ivan. They seem to be thick as thieves in History class.

Say hi to Elizabeta for me.

-Matthew

He was startled out of his thoughts with the slamming of the door. He hastily grabbed his books and left the library, walking back to his dorm.

He set down his bag by his desk and opened up A History of Monsters: Facts and Fiction. Selecting a random page, he reread the section about Kitsune Academy. It droned on about General Winter, the building of the Academy, and how some thing called the Icarus Society provided enough funds.

He halted when it mentioned people vanishing. Then he reviewed the section again.

Since the beginning of the Academy, it has been marred by the unfortunate disappearances of students. Notable disappearances include Nicolas Slake, President of his Class, Irene Lewis, Senior Editor of the former Kitsune Daily, Edward Locksman, whose vanishing was known everywhere, and Joseph Alcazar.

Each of the disappearances was never solved, but evidence pointed to the Icarus Society, the aforementioned sponsor of the school.

The spokesperson, Allistor Maleficis, reported that he had no idea of any "disappearances". The event he spoke at in 1324, at the annual Hallow's Eve celebration, was a very somber affair. The Slake family did not attend, stating that they firmly believed in the Society's guilt.

The Society disbanded in September 1456, but rumors state that the Society has continued in secret. As the original slate where the Society's motto, "Et quod diaboli est niger sicut hes 'picta", was found, it is commonly believed it is truly a thing of the past.

"Allistor Maleficis," Matthew whispered. The name was familiar. Where had he heard it before? It seemed so familiar. He looked him up in the index of the book. He wasn't there. Pushing his hands through his hair, he started his work.

Meanwhile, Alfred was doing his own kind of research, one that involved talking to everyone.

"Are you sure he just went to bed?" Alfred asked, his eyes widened and face sad to get them to talk. The harpy just shrugged and fluttered off. Katyusha was having more success.

"Thank you so much, Emily. I know, the poor dear is such a wreck, I saw her just a few hours ago. See you in Psychology!"

"Any luck on the David thing?" Alfred inquired. They had been at it for hours. He was tired.

"Yes. After saying goodnight to Ashley, he went to this girl's place, Rose. She wasn't there. That was around 9:00 p.m. Then there was a Fire Portal. A redheaded man stepped out and talked to David for a while. He said he was from this group, the 'Icarus Society'. He took David through the Portal, and that's the last anyone saw of him."

"What was the ginger's name?"

"Something like Alastair Male-fish."

"IT'S ALLISTOR MALEFICIS!" A panting Matthew caught up with them. "Was he redheaded? Yellow eyes? Scottish accent?"

"Yes," Katyusha proclaimed grandly. "It was 'Allistor Maleficis!"

Alfred avoided Matthew's eyes. They were sad, and he hated sad eyes. They seemed to contain the world. Especially Matthew's.

"I know who that is! He's part of a Society! The Society is linked to the disappearances!" Matthew grinned. "He's been around since before the 1200's, I checked three times. He's part of the Icarus Society, which was apparently a big deal back when Kitsune was first starting out. Something about funds?"

"I heard a rumor like that, but nothing ever came up like it. It was mostly unknown people that disappeared. Easily forgotten ones. Ones in the background. Ordinary people. And everyone said that an 'Allistor' took whomever disappeared," Katyusha mused. "A name like Allistor, you don't always hear that, right?"

"True," Matthew agreed. He hadn't even spoken to Alfred, and for that, Alfred was grateful. He didn't want to talk to Matthew. The air between them was just too thick. "Listen to this: 'Et quod diaboli est niger sicut hes 'picta'."

"The devil's not as black as he's painted?" Katyusha translated, turning the statement to a question. "Isn't that a quote? From the Inferno? That book from the Fire Land? But why?"

"Because. The Icarus Society was originally about integrating humans and monsters together. The quote means that even the darkest people are not as horrible as you make them seem. In the Fire Land, people say that there is a 'Devil' in Hell, which rules it. They say he is ultimately evil, and that is where the 'sinners' go when they die."

"Ah," Katyusha said. "Got it. So the Icarus Society was originally about integration. And that was their motto? Curious."

"It's curious that a group about integration and acceptance would try and kidnap monsters," Matthew asserted. "Wouldn't they kidnap both humans and monsters? And put them together? That's practically suicide, everyone knows. Humans have ways of killing everyone. Salt, silver, stakes, we all have weaknesses. We can all be killed by humans. There's a reason we don't integrate."

"The Fire Land is much richer than the Forgotten," Katyusha said. "But the Frost has riches galore, if you can find them. But to go through the Black Forest is insane to even try. Madmen lurk there. And to even get to the Frost unharmed, you have to have a demon or a possessor along. And the Council never allows anyone there. Too many people died."

"True."

They began discussing the Frost, the Black Forest, and the Sea of Despair. Alfred knew about all of those.

The Frost was the land of dreams, cold and full of illusions, unfettered from any other realm. The only way even to get to it was through the Black Forest, a desolate wilderness, where there was a Portal, maintained for years.

The Black Forest was the basic prison of all the criminals, from murderers to common thieves.

The Sea itself was a killer, as only water monsters could even touch it without going mad from sadness. Alfred knew the tales. Touch the Sea, be drowned by it when you collapsed from despair.

He walked away, away from Katyusha and Matthew, and he thought of an old story his father had told him years ago.

Once, there was a single world. The monsters and humans were one, the two races walking equally together. But, as usual, they grew apart. Sorcerers made monsters evil to the humans, feeding off them and their blood.

The monsters, humans thought, shouldn't be part of the same world as them.

So they employed their most powerful mages and wizards, imploring them to give monsters their own realm.

The wizards and mages agreed, and they made three more worlds. The Inbetween, the Frost, and the Forgotten. The humans had their realm all to themselves.

The mages built the Frost, the land of dreams. They warned that only a select few could enter outside of sleep, and they made the Frost free from any other world, connected only by consciousness and a flimsy Portal.

The Inbetween was the land of portals. The place both could go. They built the Forgotten with the monsters in mind, with only a moon to light the sky and an endless sunset, burnt orange, vivid red, and beaming yellows.

Eventually, the humans started to remember the monsters less and less. Their realm, free from any goblins or ghost, grew bright, far brighter than any monster could could stand. And they did not know about the monsters. They faded into folklore, into mythology, into legends of death and destruction and heroes.

And the humans' place was known as the Fire Land, and the monsters' as the Forgotten.

And so it has been for all time.

Alfred watched as his friend and brother talked. They turned to look at him once, then fell back into deep discussion. Tired, Alfred left.

He strode to the library, wondering if the legend was true. No history book said so, and there were few monsters who could tell how the Forgotten was built. And even those few would hide away. They were vampires and warlocks and Djinn. They were ancient, primordial monsters, wild and unfettered by the Council.

He started when a hand landed on his shoulder, Arthur watching him with a look of concern. His ever-present seaweed was entangled in his hair, but his green eyes were dimmed.

"Alfred?" Arthur questioned tenatively, as if Alfred were a tortured dog afraid of people.

"What?" Alfred asked harshly. He couldn't help it. He was tired, cold, and all he wanted was to slash something to pieces with his sword.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go practice, let off some steam." Arthur lifted his hand and Alfred rolled his shoulders.

"Sure," Alfred replied. "That would be great."

They left the hallway, Matthew watching them curiously. At the training room, Alfred slashed at dummies mercilessly, relieving his anger with each limb severed. Straw coated the floor, the yellow a direct contrast with the grey floor.

"Feet apart. Balance yourself. Adjust your grip." Arthur kept up a running stream of suggestions. "When you swing, make sure you're not cutting it like a slice of meat."

The ice slid through yet another dummy, knocking it to the floor. Placing his knees on either side of its hips, Alfred plunged the blade downward. A clattering sound, followed by the moving of said dummy, revealed a foot-long crack in the floor from his hit. Arthur mended it with a flick of his wrist.

"Whoa!" Alfred exclaimed, momentarily forgetting his anger. "You're a Magia!"

Arthur looked a tad smug. "Maybe. I'm not that powerful, though. Dad always said I had a wizard cousin."

"I would believe it! It's so cool! Can you make Portals?"

"No, you nerd," Arthur scoffed. "Only Elementals can do that. It isn't some magic book by humans. I can just...stick things back together. Or stick it together."

"Oh," Alfred said, disappointed. "That's not what I was expecting at all."

Arthur laughed at his sad look. "It's not that disappointing. It's rather nice, really. To be able to magically shut people's mouths...I'm surprised I don't use it more."


	8. Chapter 8

March, 1832, London

Allistor marched down the street, weary. The boisterous noise of drunks flirting with women filled the air. The cloying scent of wine and beer spilled from a nearby tavern. He could see a woman, most likely a prostitute, entertaining the men with a story.

"I told the fools, I did. They never knew what hit their sorry backs. Best crown I ever earned. Almost 50 cash!"

He hurried along, sliding a hidden figure a coin and slipping into a cellar. The smell of dirt lay heavy in the air. A lantern was lit, binding him for a moment. He removed his cloak, scarlet hair and yellow eyes revealed.

"Hannah. What can I do for you? You called." Allistor grinned wickedly. "The Society would pay good money for your capture, I hope you know."

As if to prove his point, a fireball formed in his hand, fully illuminating the blonde who was with him. Hannah smiled, looking desperate.

"Allistor Maleficis. I came to bargain. We have quite a history, correct? I have payment."

"If it's not magical ingredients like phoenix tears, I'm not interested. We monsters live by bargaining, you must know. Where do you wish to go? Surely not the Inbetween."

"No. I wish to go back to the Forgotten. I have two vials of phoenix tears and a good amount of unicorn hair. Rare, valuable things, as you should know. It takes a lot to procure them."

"Ah, yes, I am a bit short on the phoenix tears. How is Rose? She is a bright young thing now, I presume? I gave her a chance, but she decided to stay with you. Isn't that lovely? A mother and her daughter, forever together. She is quite the Persephone. She will eat her fatal pomegranate seeds yet."

"She would have died had she stayed with you!" Hannah seethed. "She is perfectly good, and she will live to see the end of the Society. I will not let her go."

"And she is dying now. I can cast spells, Hannah, I can tell her life force is fading. She is a clockwork creature, same as you. A mechanical masterpiece, made with thoughts and emotions. She will not live to see the Icarus Society fall. And yet you still cling to her! Your 'daughter' is nearly dead, and when she truly is gone, it will be all your fault." Allistor's voice thundered with every syllable.

"You disgust me. But, for the sake of our daughter, I will take you to the Forgotten. I'll get you a place at the Academy. I know General Winter. But do not expect that I will leave Rose be. I will have her, and her health will be restored." His hand moved threateningly.

Hannah cowered slightly, but she held out two bottles and a bundle. "Your payment."

"Good," Allistor said tonelessly. "Now, for the Forgotten."

XXXXX

Present Day, Kitsune Academy

"There's been another disappearance," Matthew said miserably to Gilbert and Katyusha. "Some kind of demon. Maybe a Succubus; I don't really know. Her name was Felicity, I think?"

"Felicity?" Katyusha asked. "I knew her. She was a good friend of mine, years ago."

Gilbert just looked off. His ears drooped, and his maroon eyes were full of mystery and sorrow. Matthew stared at him.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Gilbert said defensively. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing. Drop it." Gilbert's voice was beginning to rise. "It's nothing, okay?"

"Did you like her?"

The question sent Gilbert into a mess of spluttering and stuttering out an answer. Katyusha gave Matthew a look of dark "why did you keep pushing" and hugged the pale boy until he calmed. Gilbert took several deep breaths and repeated his answers from before. "Nothing."

"Jesus."

Alfred had arrived. Matthew had been dreading this moment, the moment when they absolutely had to talk. The problem was getting Alfred to talk. He internalized everything, and he always had. It would take a great force to even make him speak. Matthew avoided his eyes like the plague.

"So, anyone know was a colon and a paratheses mean when they are put together?" Alfred asked. He showed them a piece of paper with a large, flowery :) was written. A smaller, less noticeable Call me- F was in the corner.

"It appears they want you to call them 'F'," Katyusha said. Matthew squinted at the paper, trying to decipher it.

"Nah," Gilbert dismissed her quizzical answer, apparently having gotten over whatever had been afflicting him. "They want you to scream 'F', obviously. That'll get their attention. Just do it nice and loud. Like this."

He proceeded to scream "I love you, bratwurst" a few times. It echoed in the cafeteria, which had gone silent as they watched the werewolf yell his guts out. Alfred slammed a well-practiced elbow into Gilbert's stomach and rolled his eyes.

"No, you morons, that means call Francis. He wants your love, le Alfred-ah," Matthew offered, having no idea what the words that spilled out of his mouth meant. He spoke what humans called 'Canadian-French', but he thought he said something about Alfred? He didn't know anymore.

"That sounds like Francis. Why the..." Katyusha made a weird sound equivalent to the mental sound of '?' to make a noise for :).

"Because he's a bloody pervert," Arthur joined them. He had a habit of mysteriously appearing, Matthew noticed. "He'll gladly 'do' anyone who's even average-looking."

"Not that you're average, Alfred," he added, seeing the deadpan insulted look on Alfred's face. Alfred smirked in satisfaction.

"That's what I thought, Artie." Alfred flicked the shapeshifter absentmindedly. Arthur snarled and rubbed the injured area. "So, should I murder Francis, or should I just smack him and said, 'Call ya later'?"

Gilbert pretended to think. "Why don't you try and ask Arthur, whom you greviously wounded. Or I could get Francis over here now. He's in the line. HEY, FRANCIS!"

"Bonjour," Francis greeted, walking over with a simple cup of coffee. It smelled heavenly to everyone there, as they were all exhausted. "Good morning, Arthur, Alfred, Katyusha. Lovely to see you."

"Is that coffee?" Gilbert asked, looking suspiciously like he wanted it.

"Yes," Francis replied. "And they have an entire pot of it brewing now. You're not getting any whatsoever. No if's and buts."

"If if's and buts were sugar and nuts, we would all be obese," Arthur said snarkily. "Gilbert, I'm getting some, I'll grab you and the others one. Is black alright with everyone?"

There was a murmur of consent and Matthew sighed. As they watched Arthur saunter away to the line, he wanted to go. But he stayed. "So anyone wanna brainstorm over the disappearances?"

Katyusha nodded. "Yes, it is a good idea. Gilbert, Francis, I'm sure you both know about them."

Francis and Gilbert made noises that probably meant 'yes'. Francis pushed a hand through his hair and took a sip of his coffee. "I knew Rose, at least at night. David was just a part of my class, and that other girl was just weird."

"Weird how?" Alfred leaned forward. "Was she just bonkers or what?"

"More like she was super-secretive. Everyone knows nothing about her. There's tons of rumors," Gilbert spoke up. "People know what she is, duh, but they know nothing about her life, her birthday, barely even her last name. She never spoke, too. You could understand her, but she usually just gestured."

Katyusha shifted in her seat. "She spoke to me. I knew her pretty well, but she kept everything private. As a fellow demon, I can understand that. There's a lot of stuff about our kind that we want to keep secret. Like our weaknesses. Or our abilities."

"That's true," Alfred agreed. He knew what it was like to have to keep something hidden. Like what Matthew actually was. And no offense meant to the people at the table, but he didn't trust them farther than he could throw them just yet.

Arthur arrived with a tray loaded with cups. The rich scent washed over them, and they each grabbed one, muttering thanks. Francis smirked at them before filling Arthur in on their discussion.

"You know, Braginsky's supposed to be knee-deep in the world of secrets and weaknesses, maybe we could find out more," Arthur said after Francis was done speaking. "Katyusha, where's your brother?"

Katyusha smiled quickly. "I'll go get him. It'll be a few minutes. Alfred can come with me, it's no trouble."

Alfred stood up, and he extended a hand to her before nodding at Arthur. "I heard something like that once."

Francis waved as they started to leave. "See you in a few."

Katyusha led Alfred through a twisting maze of hallways until a large red door appeared in the distance. She was surprisingly fast, and though she winced as she speed-walked, they arrived. She knocked twice before entering. And Alfred was struck dumb.

The room was large, the walls painted a sunny yellow color. Weapons of nearly every type hung on the wall, as did a large painting of a violet-eyed boy with pale hair. The boy was surrounded by sunflowers, and though his expression was happy, his eyes retained a large amount of sadness.

Ivan was in the corner, sharpening what appeared to be a battle axe. He grinned at Katyusha and gave a small smile to Alfred. "Good morning."

Katyusha gave her brother a quick hug before stepping back and starting. "Brother, three people are missing. Can you help?"

"Four, actually," Ivan corrected. "Some harpy went missing. Name was Mary Longhern. She was taken in a Portal by a red-haired man called Allistor. Went quite willingly, if my source was accurate. Her partner broke up with her a mere few hours before she disappeared. She hasn't been seen since."

Alfred was impressed. "Wow. You found all that out in a couple hours?"

"I have contacts here," Ivan admitted. "I like to keep informed."

"So, can you help us?" Alfred implored. He was getting desperate for some info. Any info. And Ivan seemed to have it all.

Ivan nodded. "Of course. The last time people disappeared was a few hundred years ago." He rose, setting down the sword. "Just let me hang up the Dragon-Killer."

"Dragon-Killer?"

"It's a sword made by humans. Originally intended to kill dragons, they are quite the nuisance. I restored it after finding it in the Inbetween." Ivan placed it reverently on two pegs and slipped on boots.

He followed them from his room to the cafeteria, through that twisting maze that was the hallways. Francis smiled in welcome, as did Matthew, but Gilbert and Arhut barely reacted as he approached.

"Braginsky," Arthur greeted.

"Kirkland," Ivan quipped back. Alfred barely held back a snort. "It is my understanding you requested my assistance?"

"Yes," Matthew butted in before Arthur said something dangerous. The Braginsky temper was legendary, and no one wanted to face it. "What can you tell us about the disappearances?"

"Well," Ivan began, "they all involved Portals. And this redhead named Allistor Maleficis. Said he was part of the 'Icarus Society'. Of course, this was something intent on re-integrating the monsters and humans."

"Wait," Arthur held up a hand. He stared accusingly at Francis. "You never told me my cousin was involved in this!"

Alfred narrowed his eyes at Arthur. "It would have been excellent to know if you had an ancient cousin who very well might be a kidnapper!"

Arthur glared defensively. "I didn't know it was Allistor for hell's sake! He's been my cousin since forever, I never knew he was secretly like that. I'll have you know he was very pleasant, we have had lovely discussions about tea."

"Everyone has that one immortal cousin, or they are the immortal cousin," Francis said, snatching up Arthur's forgotten coffee. "It's not impossible, you know. In my case, I have this aunt, Maria, she's such a drama maiden-"

He stopped at their confused faces.

"Drama queen," he corrected. "I always call them 'drama maidens'. She's apparently this Manananggal thing, basically a vampire, but she is ridiculously old. She's been around since the days of Julius Zezaer, or whatever that human's name was."

"Julius Caesar," Matthew said, gently correcting him. "So she's a Mana?"

"Yep, but she prefers to be referred to by the full name of her species, I'll have you know. Marie's a dear sometimes, but mostly she's very odd about things."

"MOVING ON," Alfred said loudly. He didn't really care about Francis' aunt, no matter how odd (or ancient) she may be. "So, continue, Ivan."

Ivan did so, looking uncomfortably toward Francis. "So, I've done my research, and I found that the Icarus Society has been around since before the 1200's. No idea precisely when it started, but Allistor Maleficis has been a part since the beginning, according to the records."

Arthur nodded. "He did say something about how he was part of a group. He never specified, but I always assumed it was just a FORWARD chapter or something."

"Forward?"

"They're big in the wizarding and demon communities," Katyusha explained. "Stands for something like 'Fellows Of Rare Warlocks And Rare Demons'. It's for really powerful warlocks and demons. They call them rare because their power is rarely seen outside the Fire Land."

"So I never really thought much of it. He wasn't really ever around anyway, I barely even knew him."

"OK," Ivan said. "And he was the one who made the motto of the Society. He also had a wooden plaque that said 'in aeternis tenebris ignem et glaciem'."

Alfred squinted at Ivan and Francis, and Gilbert and Matthew looked mildly confused. Arthur rolled his eyes. "It means 'into the eternal darkness, into fire, into ice'. Another quote from the Inferno. Great novel, by the way. Dante knew what he was doing."

"Whatever," the four said. Ivan coughed.

"That's a lot of weird quotes," Matthew observed. Ivan made a face, which none of them could decipher. He coughed again before resuming. "He's apparently a huge Inferno fan, and it appears that he was quite fond of them. I have a page of what he used to write in a journal. It's all in Latin, though."

"That's nice about my cousin, but can we move our focus back to the task at hand? The disappearances?" Arthur snapped, pulling them out of the discussion about his cousin. Gilbert was weirdly silent.

"Oh, right, of course. One of my sources found a slip of paper where the Portal once was. You know, from when they vanished." Ivan retrieved a slip of paper from a hidden pocket. He read from it. "Through me you go into a city of weeping; through me you go into eternal pain; through me you go amongst the lost people."

"That's an interesting thing to write. Lemme see," Gilbert finally said, snatching up the parchment. His already pale face went chalk white. "Oh, my hell."

"What?" Matthew asked in concern. Gilbert looked at him hollowly and pulled out something from his pocket. It was a small notebook, and it was filled with scribbles. The rest of them all craned forward to have a look at what was written there.

"I came to a place stripped bare of every light

and roaring on the naked dark like seas wracked by a war of winds."

"I was swept by such a swoon as death is, and I fell,

as a corpse might fall, to the dead floor of Hell."

"What kind of batshit crazy stuff is that?" Alfred asked. Gilbert blushed very obviously, and he blinked rapidly. "I dunno. It was just in my head the other night."

"Odd," Arthur said, not unkindly, "that my cousin takes care to quote the Inferno, and yet you have two quotes right here, in your head."

Gilbert swallowed nervously. Francis and Matthew stared curiously. Arthur continued. "What are you hiding, Beilschmidt?"

"Leave him alone, Arthur," Katyusha said, glaring at the blond. Arthur flushed an ugly red and he tugged on his seaweed self-consciously. "If he said he just had them in his head, then he just had them in his head. Warlocks are more than capable of getting someone to have visions or thoughts."

Arthur relented, sighing. Ivan looked just perplexed. "So, do you want to hear the rest about the vanishings...or?"

"Yes," Alfred rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Go ahead."

"The Portal was Fire, definitely the work of a Salamader. The weirdest thing was, the redhead was actually the one to cast it."

"What?!" Matthew yelled. He had done detective work himself, but the fact that Allistor could conjure a Fire Portal was worrying. "You just now decided to tell us that?!"

Only Francis seemed to understand him. "Matthew, you're slipping into French."

He hastily corrected himself. "Sorry. Now you decide to tell us he can make a Fire Portal?!"

Ivan looked slightly abashed. "My apologies. He's obviously a powerful Salamander or a mix of one. Perhaps his father was a Salamander? His mother a witch?"

"That would make sense. Any idea where they went?"

"They went to the Sea of Despair. Perhaps they are all on a cruise to Hell?" Ivan suggested wryly, the corner of his lip turned up. Matthew smiled.

"No, that can't be it."

"I think I have an answer," Arthur proclaimed. They all turned to him and he blushed. "Allistor probably mindswept them. Wiped away part of their memories so they would come willingly. Of course, memories are never truly erased, but mindsweeping is probably one of the easiest things to do magically. A simple incantation and they have forgotten everything. It doesn't last forever, but it's effective."

"That's an option. Possession's also a good theory. How about we all hit the books-" Matthew checked his watch. 7:56 p.m. "-or bed, and talk to each other tomorrow?"

There was a general murmur of consent, and all stood up and stretched. Arthur grabbed Matthew's arm to check the time. "Good lord, did we really talk for five hours?"

"Mysterious," Ivan grinned. He and Katyusha left, talking quietly. Francis departed with Gilbert in tow. At last, only Arthur, Alfred, and Matthew were left. Alfred was reminded violently of his first day at the Academy, meeting a scowling Arthur.

"See you two tomorrow. Catch some sleep," Arthur said, leaving. Alfred followed and only Matthew was left. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a small tome the size of his fist. Gold letters on the cover caught the light, shining out its name. Myths and Legends of the Forgotten.

Sitting down, he started to read.

Long ago, when the humans and monsters were still in their one world, there was Maria and Algerihi. The two were inseparable, the Oni following the human girl wherever they went.

Even when they were apart, Maria and Algerihi loved each other. But it could not be. The monsters and humans were beginning to drive each other away, their differences too much to handle. Eventually, the humans split from their fellows and their most skilled mages made the three worlds.

Algerihi was put in the Forgotten, his eyes ripped out because he dared love a human girl. Maria was shunned, even by her family, for loving a monster. Both eventually wandered to the Inbetween, Algerihi blind, Maria sad and alone.

On a shoreline, they called out each other's names. Thick fog blocked Maria's view, and Algerihi did not know this part of the Inbetween. They wandered for hours, each wondering where the other was.

They went for far apart that Maria was in the Forgotten and Algerihi was in the Fire Land.

Maria was found by malicious demons, and they dumped her in the Sea, where she drowned willingly, too sad to think. Algerihi wandered into a human village, and from their unfounded terror, they ripped him to shreds.

"Damn," Matthew swore quietly. He knew monsters weren't the happiest bunch, and they were rarely cheerful. But it was still so surprising to know that they had stories like that. He shook his head. He was thinking like he wasn't a monster. And that wasn't true.

By classification, monsters were any non-Fire Land creature with 'magical or extraordinary capablities that far exceed what any human or natural animal can accomplish'. Even mages, wizards, witches, and warlocks had demon blood. He, Matthew, as a Halcyon, was a monster. And he was thinking like a human.

He flipped to a section, the one legend he knew well. Maybe a story would calm him, wash him in the familiarity. Take him back to days with Alfred and his father. Blissful ignorance in the form of a tale. Lady Magia and the Lost.

After the mages made the four worlds, Lady Magia was the first to rule the Forgotten. She was a Hebi, a snake demon. Her ways in magic and trickery, along with her deadly fighting skills, helped her win her way to the throne.

She was a just ruler for 700 years, and her wise council kept criminals and general lawbreaking in check. Until the dragons came.

The dragons razed the Forgotten to the ground, wrecking villages and entire farms. Her soldiers could do nothing. At last, Lady Magia brought forth her warlocks and sent them to kill the dragons.

The warlocks failed. Annoyed and disappointed, Lady Magia faced the dragons herself.

It took days, but Lady Magia defeated the dragons- at a terrible cost. To overcome them, she had to banish them, and herself, to the Frost. The only remnant left of them were the stone figures in their likeness.

Forever after, all magic-users were known as Magia, in her honor. And to remember the dragons, any species that went extinct or vanished was to be known as Lost.

Matthew stood up, tired, legs nearly bucking under him. Swearing under his breath, he hobbled to his dorm, collapsing on his bed. Alfred, across the room, snored loudly.

He checked his watch. 10:34 p.m. Groaning and rolling over, he glared at the wall before falling into the Frost.

XXXXX

January, 2006, Near the Sea of Despair

Sam Williams looked at Alfred smilingly. Matthew stood behind them, feeling alone.

"You see, Alfred, you've gotta watch for the things like this," Sam said, still grinning. The Sea thumped against the waves, cold spray almost hitting them. "And the Sea is one of the most beautiful things in the entire Forgotten."

Alfred laughed in joy. "It's so pretty! Like Mattie when he turns into a bird!"

Sam cast a glance at Matthew then turned back to Alfred, chuckling. "It is!"

Matthew wrapped his arms around his torso and tried not to cry. Sam was oblivious, and he was trying his level best to keep Alfred's attention. The waves crashed against the shore.

Sam smiled again. "Go intangible, Alfred. Practice your skill. You're the last child of our species. The last Sylph. And it's your responsibility, you know. To know what Sylphs can do. You can fly, go intangible, you have super strength!"

"But what about Mattie?" Alfred pouted. "He's really rare! He's gotta know what he can do!"

Sam dismissed Alfred's inquiry with a shake of his head. "Matthew doesn't need our help."

"Why not? He can control the weather and turn into a bird!" Alfred exclaimed in disbelief. "It's kind of ridiculous to not teach him, you know?"

"Matthew knows how to turn into a bird. It's ridiculous, as you put it, to teach him. He can only control the weather in midwinter, to try and teach him now is obsolete." Sam scoffed. Alfred looked crestfallen.

"Don't worry, you don't have to really help Halcyons learn their skills. It's in their blood to know what to do, as they are usually solitary," Sam said, reassuring Alfred, who looked better.

Matthew realized his hands were curled into fists and released them. Red lines were scored across his palms and he shivered in the cold. Sam was still talking.

"Now, you can make anything, so long as you have enough water. A book, a sled, anything. It'll be made into unbreakable, non-melting ice, and it'll stay like that until you dismiss it back to the air. That's what we're doing here at the Sea. Focus on the push and pull of the water. Use that force and power to your advantage. Make something."

Alfred stared in concentration and he stuck his hands out. Little droplets of sea spray froze in midair and joined each other. They built up, stacking on top of each other until they had made a perfect sphere.

"Good," Sam said, eyeing the ball. "Now release that energy, that moisture."

Alfred focused on the ball again, and it shuddered. It exploded into a million little drops, and Sam hastily built up a wall of ice before they were hit. He let the ice dissolve before turning to Alfred.

"That was good. But feel it as it leaves. Don't concentrate on the task at hand, focus on the water."

Alfred built another ball, and when he released its water, it simply melted back into the Sea. Sam congratulated Alfred, and Matthew stood in the background, forgotten.

XXXXX

Present Day, Kitsune Academy

Matthew woke with a start. He checked the calendar on the wall by his bed, sure it was still 2006. Or what he hoped was 2006. His father was murdered that year, he remembered. On July 17, 16 days after his birthday.

He shook out his head. It wouldn't do to have these kinds of thoughts, especially when people were missing. Alfred wasn't in his bed, and Matthew wondered what time it was. He knew it was a Monday, and that meant...

"Shit!" he shouted, rushing out of bed. He looked at his watch. 9:58 a.m.

He proceeded to grouch and curse all the way from the dormitory to the cafeteria. The ladies in the kitchen gave him an odd look. Probably from his disheveled appearance, but he ordered a sandwich to go anyway.

When he got his sandwich, he rushed to his class, late enough as it was. He checked his schedule. Monday: Monster History, Periods 1 & 2.

At least he wasn't too late, right? Only- he looked at his watch again- an hour late. Mrs. Horal did a double take at his appearance, ruffled as it was. In fact, everyone did. Gilbert coughed and Francis winked.

"Boy, you better have an explanation as to why you are an hour late!"

"I, um, slept in. I missed my alarm," Matthew stumbled over his words. "I was studying last night and it was too late for me to really do anything by the time I went to bed. I forgot to turn the volume on my clock up."

"I see," Mrs. Horal said severely. Her toadlike face wrinkled as she scowled. "Get to your seat, and for evil's sake, button your shirt! This isn't a human- what do they call them?- bar!"

Matthew looked down. Sure enough, his shirt was unbuttoned and the entirety of his upper front was in full view. He caught more than one person, Francis included, who was checking out his chest. He blushed.

"Sorry," he stammered, fixing his appearance. Francis wolf-whistled as he did so, and Mrs. Horal shot him a look. Matthew quickly moved to his seat.

"Now, since everyone is halfway decent and not showing off themselves, turn to page 345 and read the section on the fifth king before we had a Council. I want a half-page report on the politics and trials of this era in our history. Do not try and write largely, I can tell if it is your actual handwriting or not. Begin!"

There was a general rustle as everyone grabbed their textbook and started to read. Matthew, without a book and having already read the section, started to write. Gilbert looked at him in astonishment.

"Why are you writing? Where is your book?"

Matthew finished a flourishing 't' and set down his quill. "I already read the book. And my textbook's in my dorm."

"Fascinating stuff, huh?" Gilbert laughed.

"Not particularly. King John was foolish to start and he completely ruined the economy with trying to focus our output on ink. Rare as that stuff may have been, it was a damn fool move."

"Fair enough," Arthur said from above them, leaning down, "but can you imagine the profits had we exported and manufactured it well?"

"Yes, had we had an examplary harvesting technique and regulations suited for this type of export," Matthew said, indicating a section of the textbook dedicated to laws and trade regulations.

"True," Arthur agreed. Mrs. Horal glared at them all talking and walked over, hands on her hips.

"Beilshmidt, Kirkland, Williams, what are you discussing?"

"We are discussing how the focus on exports in ink ruined chances for the Forgotten's economy," Arthur replied promptly.

"And how did it ruin the chances?" she smirked, clearly expecting a wrong answer. Matthew proved her wrong.

"Without any good techniques or regulations to make it sustainable, King John managed to completely wreck the economy. People with no prior experience and no knowledge on ink production entered the business, and they were the ones who ruined the entire thing. Since the ink manufactured was so bad, the only thing it was good for was dying clothing black."

Mrs. Horal did poorly at disguising her shock. Her face widened and stretched and generally looked uglier. "Very good."

She stalked off. Gilbert chuckled. "She's not the best in the business of concealing emotions, right?"

Matthew smirked. "No, she isn't."

"So," Arthur said, "is that an actual tattoo of a Halcyon or is it just temporary?"

Matthew groaned. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of showing everyone the bare front of his torso. "Yes."

"Excellent," Arthur replied. "I need to spread the word."

"About what? I have a bird on my chest? How shocking," Matthew deadpanned. "I think about half the girls fainted."

"Oh, yes, they did. And it's not hard to figure out why," Arthur retorted. He had noticed a long jagged scar across Matthew's stomach, curving around his hip. "Ladies love a man with scars."

Francis sighed beside Arthur. "It's true. Men too."

"Stop it, you bloody pervert," Arthur retorted, smacking Francis in the chest. The two blonds started arguing fiercely and after a moment, began throwing punches alarmingly quickly.

"You are such a git!"

"And you are a jerk!"

"You expect me to be insulted?"

"Oui!"

"Alright, guys, break it up," Gilbert interrupted. Arthur opened his mouth and closed it rapidly. Francis, one of his hands in Arthur's hair (holding the other back) punched Arthur in the chest before letting him go. Matthew snorted at all of them.

"I am wounded," Francis dramatically fainted. Arthur, clearly expected to catch him, let the Frenchman fall to the floor with a resounding crash. Mrs. Horal glared at the quartet.

"Mr. Yao's office! Now!"

Everyone who heard her groaned. Mr. Yao was one of the most sarcastic and cold people you could ever meet, and it astounded everyone that he was the school's Psychology teacher. He was also in charge of punishments, and they were the most creative and extreme ones you could imagine, minus torture.

The four packed up their bags, with the exception of Matthew, and trudged to Mr. Yao's office. The walk seemed long and unbearably quiet, but no one dared to shatter the silence.

They stared at Mr. Yao's black door with a mixture of anticipation and fear. Arthur, ever practical, knocked.

Mr. Yao practically exploded out of the door. And Matthew gasped.

Mr. Yao's skin was almost completely rotted, and patches of what looked to be a ponytail remained, clinging desperately to his scalp. One of his eyes was clouded over, the original brown nearly white. The other was staring at them hard. His clothing was torn and frayed, but it looked to be traditional clothing of the Forgotten: billowing robes, though his were decorated with Chinese dragons.

"What are you staring at, boy?" Mr. Yao snapped. Matthew hastily looked away. Mr. Yao continued. "I assume you idiots got in trouble. What did you do this time?"

He made it sound like they were there every day, and Matthew disliked him already. Arthur spoke up.

"Francis and I got in a fight and these two were dragged into it."

"Very well," Mr. Yao sighed. "Come in before my cat gets out."

They all shuffled in, and Gilbert quickly claimed a chair. Arthur and Matthew were left standing, Francis having taken the only other one. Matthew scanned the office, and found some weird items: two eyes, one which rolled around to look at him, a dusty bottle of something labeled 'belladonna- gets stronger with age", a claw of what appeared to be a dragon, and a jar of lamb's blood.

"So, you morons got in here from Monster History, correct?" Mr. Yao asked nastily. Francis nodded, and Mr. Yao resumed talking. "OK, here's your punishment. Kirkland, Bonnefoy, three hours of cleaning the Great Hall. No magicking away anything, no fighting. You better get it done before the three hours are up. Your only tool will be some soap and a toothbrush."

He stacked a few papers on his desk. "Williams, Beilschmidt, two days of detention for not breaking up the fight. You'll be with the kitchen women. They'll make you do whatever they need."

Matthew heard a meow and watched a pure-black cat stride up to him. When it lifted its head, he saw its eyes glowed a bright green, literally lighting the space near his feet with color.

"I see you've met Warlock," Mr. Yao said, sounding exasperated. Matthew nodded. "Well don't just stand there, pet the damn thing!"

Matthew nervously knelt down and petted Warlock. The cat purred, liking the attention, until it slashed out with a claw and sliced deeply into his hand.

"Ow!"

"I forgot to mention he's also very tempermental," Mr. Yao said a bit gleefully. Matthew covered his hand before anyone could see the navy blood dripping down his hand.

"You may leave."

The four scrambled out, Matthew's hand stinging with each movement. He shut the door behind him and found Francis, Arthur, and Gilbert all staring at him. "What?"

"You're not a Lightning Bird," Arthur stated accusingly. "What are you? Lightning Birds have pure white blood. You have blue. Spill."

He tried to play it off as something inconsequential. "It's nothing, really, are you sure we don't have blue blood? There's different species you know-"

"Cut the bullshit," Gilbert snapped. "You're not who you say you are. What are you?"

Francis glared at him a little. "Spit it out, Matthew. If you're not a serial killer, chances are we won't out you. Even if you are worth more than all of our weights in gold."

"I'm, um, a Halcyon," Matthew admitted, feeling like he was backed into a corner. The wound on his hand, if he wasn't mistaken, was slowly widening. He would need some medical attention soon.

"A Halcyon? Like the Halcyons, shapshifters and controllers of the weather?" Arthur inquired in wonder.

"I wasn't aware there was any others," Matthew quipped, though his voice wavered. Gilbert snorted and punched him in the arm.

"You're being a dumbass, stop."

"I am not!" Matthew retorted.

"You are," Gilbert scoffed. "Quit your moronic little clapbacks and spill."

"Spill what? The fact that I'm a Halcyon and people would pay more than five hundred thousand dollars to get a feather from me? Or the fact that I'm worth more than everyone in this school's combined weight in gold? I hate being what I am. And the fact that my brother is, you know, the last existing member of his species sure puts a damper on things, doesn't it?" Matthew said sarcastically.

"We didn't mean..."

"I'm sure you didn't mean anything, but there's a reason I shut up about what I am," Matthew went on, disregarding Francis' injured looks and Arthur's shocked expression. "And I expect you three to do the same."

He stalked off, eyes fierce. The others were left to reel in the remnants of his fury.

The Academy seemed dark and forlorn, not a good combination when you were storming through it like a hurricane.

Matthew slammed past three people and Mr. Jackson, cracking the floor with each footstep. His hand twitched, flashing between a wing and an arm.

He found his dorm room and kicked the door open. Locking it behind him and shutting the shades, he transformed into a bird.

He sighed, which sounded like a low trill in his bird vocal cords. He quickly pulled out a birdcage and set it on the nightstand (no small task, he was about the size of a large fist), and opened the door to the cage.

Something started to rattle the doorknob to the room. There were a series of little clicking sounds and Alfred entered, lockpick in hand.

"Mattie?"

Matthew glared at Alfred, violet eyes ferocious. Alfred glared right back.

"Get over it, Mattie, they were just trying to know more about you."

Matthew transformed back and crossed his arms over his chest. "So what, Alfred? Am I supposed to just tell them? Which I did, by the way. They know."

"I know that they know, Mattie. And you need to chill out about it. I know they pushed too hard for answers but when you basically lie to someone, they try and figure out the truth. Like a normal person."

"We aren't 'normal', Alfred," Matthew roared. "We lie every day to ourselves and everyone else! I think like a damn human for god's sake!"

Alfred stepped forward. "Well, Jesus, Matthew, if you actually opened up about crap-"

"Then what?" Matthew interrupted, registering that Alfred had used his full name. "Then we'll all go our merry way? Life moves on like in that song, and we all row, row, row our boats gently down the stream? Because merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it!"

"Then what did you mean?" Matthew said, his voice cracking. He was just so angry and he had to get out the storm before it surrounded the little island he had made himself.

Alfred stopped, his breath coming in quick little pants. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with the tips of his thumbs. When he opened them, they were watering.

Matthew stared. It was rare that Alfred even cried, and for him to do it in the open was almost like seeing an extinct species suddenly appear in your living room. It just didn't happen.

"I meant that if you opened up instead of shoving it all down like you do," Alfred's voice quavered and he swallowed, tears starting to run down his face, "then maybe we'll be able to get past all that crap you have. Then we'll be able to actually talk about shit instead of skirting around it. I know Dad hurt you, but he hurt me too. Jesus, Mattie, you can't hold it in. One day, the dam will break and everything will hurt twice as much."

Matthew could only watch helplessly as Alfred curled up on the floor and cried like his heart was going to shatter.

XXXXX

Two Days Previous, the Black Forest

General snarled at a demon that approached him. It scuttled off, hissing. He turned to the witch beside him. "This place is full of filth. Where is the damn Vetala?"

"Here, sir," the witch replied. "He's hiding in the bush behind you."

She waved an airy hand, and with a crack, the Vetala emerged. It growled at her before speaking. "Is it you? The General?"

"Yes," General said. "I understand you were killed the supposed last Sylph? What was his name?"

"Samuel Williams," the Vetala replied in a husky, masculine Southern accent. "He put up an awful fight too. But that's all I'm givin' ya. I don't need any more enemies."

General scowled. The pathetic thing thought it could refuse him? The General Winter, famed founder of Kitsune Academy, feared Wendigo and known human killer? What a fool it was. "You will tell me, or you will suffer, Vetala."

It shuddered. "Fine. I killed Williams years ago. That's what got me sent here. The bastard had two sons. The mother had been dead for years by the time I got him. It was an assignment. From the place I was working for. The man who got me into the damn thing called himself Allistor. He was a cunning son of a bitch. He promised I could kill as much as I wanted, as long as I did what he said."

General nodded. "Keep going. Or be punished."

"He said that he was a warlock, hundreds of years old. They started out small. Just kill a few vampires, nothing special. Then he started to get bigger. I had to take down a Giant...That was difficult. Then I had to kill the last Sylph. Maleficis said that the Sylph was dangerous to his employers' plans. So he was a threat to all of us there. I took him down pretty quick. Damn fool didn't even put up much of a fight."

"Then what happened?" The witch flicked her wrist. The Vetala hissed at her.

"I got caught a couple miles from the scene. Got taken to the Council and everything. Idiots barely even looked at me before sending me here to be torn to pieces." It flexed its long, clawed fingers. "I don't doubt that one day they'll be killed. Whether it be by my own hand or another's, they'll be destroyed."

General smirked. The movement revealed his sharp teeth, well-versed in slicing through flesh and bone with ease. The Vetala cackled at him.

"Like that's going to scare me! Wendigos are always so prideful, I haven't met one yet who wasn't arrogant and cocky. You'll find your downfall, too, General, and I assure you, those of the Black Forest will be there to witness the descent."

"Shut it up and make sure the boat's sealed and doubly warded before we leave. I don't want any...stowaways," General commanded, letting the last word hang in the air like a spider from its web, dangerous and very capable of spreading its venom.

The witch nodded and started chanting. "Release, release, doubly release, spirits of the howling wind aid me! O! Let the earth swallow he who boards with us!"

General wrinkled his nose in distaste. She continued chanting, red ribbons of light wrapping around her arms. Then he realized that was her blood, running down her forearms from where she had slit her wrists. Her hands seemed to be hanging from her arms like puppets from where she was holding them up. He stopped. And realized they were dislocated.

He had always known blood had magical properties, human or not. But seeing it in action was a different story. And it disgusted him.

"My blood shall be drunk by the spirits, and they shall protect us both. Let no one but us be able to enter."

The blood turned golden and was sucked away by whatever magical force she was invoking. She lowered her arms and snapped her wrists back into place with a slight crack.

"It is done," she whispered, panting. The Vetala, long since cursed away by the power of her spell, hissed from a spot in a tree.

Sighing, General wondered when they would be back in front of the Council.

XXXXX

Present Day, Kitsune Academy

Matthew sank to his knees, staring at Alfred. Tears were running messily down both brothers' faces, staining their shirts with salt water. Snowflakes were drifting down to the floor, and when Alfred lowered his hands, they were stained with his gold-colored blood.

Alfred sniveled for a moment longer, his eyes tinged with red, before he stood up. Grinding his hands into the snow-ridden carpet, he hauled himself upward. Gold ran its way down his fingers, dripping on the carpet.

"I need to go," he said unsteadily, the evidence of weeping still etched in his face. His eyes were wild, haunted. "I need to….I need to leave, go somewhere."

He left Matthew behind, stumbling out.

Alfred tripped out down the hallway, barely noticing the shadow materializing just beside him.

"It's a shame," the person said, "to ruin memories as perfect as this."

There was a flash of light, an incantation, and Alfred forgot everything. He stared at the redhead beside him.

"Your name is Alfred Jones," Allistor said, yellow eyes glittering, "and your brother is trying to kill you."

He waved an airy hand and a Portal appeared. "I'd recommend you come with me, if you want to live."

Alfred, unsure, stepped through the Portal. Gold blood dripped onto the carpet, and it stained the floor. Allistor smirked down at it. It would be the last remnant of the Sylph before he disappeared together.


	9. Chapter 9

_Present Day, Kitsune Academy_

Matthew stopped and stared at the open door. Then he ran out.

"Alfred? Alfred!" he called, growing increasingly desperate. Gilbert ran up to him, panting.

"Look, dude, I'm sorry about the whole thing-"

"Shut up about it now," Matthew said distractedly. "Alfred's gone!"

"Maybe he went on a walk or something, it's not that impossible-" Gilbert replied, looking a little winded. Matthew spun around to look at him.

"MY BROTHER HAS GONE MISSING, AND ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY IS THAT  _MAYBE_  HE WENT ON A WALK?!"

"Chill, I'm sure he'll come back," Gilbert tried to reassure Matthew, who wasn't having it. He stared at the little spots of gold on the carpet. "Did he cut himself?"

"Yes, he was crying, but that's not important right now. What's important is  _finding my brother_  before something happens to him!" Matthew grabbed the front of Gilbert's shirt. The other's ears drooped.

"Matthew, you need to calm down," a commanding voice said near the two. Matthew pushed a shaking hand through his hair before releasing Gilbert. Arthur glared at both of them. "It's not going to help find your brother if you're going beserk."

Matthew scowled as Gilbert massaged his throat. "So what?"

"So what?! So your brother might be dead in some ditch in the Fire Land or kidnapped and here you are, going off on Gilbert and making sure everyone in the damn place can hear you!" Arthur exclaimed. "So calm your ass and think rationally!"

Matthew stared hard at them before he shoved past both.

"Where are you going?" Arthur yelled after him. He looked back once.

"I'm going to find my brother."

XXXXX

_Undisclosed Location in the Forgotten, Present Day_

The place he was in was bumpy, he knew that. Sleep was difficult, as was trying to get comfortable. He stared into the darkness, pupils dilating with the effort of seeing through the thick blackness.

He made out a door, its hinges rusty and an old-fashioned lock fastened to its middle. That struck him as odd. He didn't know much anymore, but wouldn't a lock be by the side of the door?

And where were his memories? He couldn't remember anything, not his parents, brother, or friends. He only had Allistor, who knew practically everything about him. Alfred knew he was a Sylph, something that deserved to be wiped out. But Allistor said that he could change, not be so bloodthirsty, and then Sylphs could be allowed back in the world again. But until that happened, he had to be locked up.

The only thing he still had with him was a sword of ice. It hummed sometimes, and it whispered to him when he talked to it. He was thirsty, and hungry, but he knew he deserved it.

The door creaked open, and a blinding ray of light entered. Alfred blinked in the stillness, and Allistor entered. And, as he was now used to, Alfred lowered his head, and he held out his hand to show the navy snowflake on his palm.

"Good morning," Allistor said pleasantly. His ever-present accent was somewhat of a hindrance to Alfred, as he could barely understand some words. "I trust you had an excellent night?"

"No, not really," Alfred admitted. "The floor is rough and I am always cold."

"That is most unfortunate," Allistor stated, his face twisted slightly as he fought to keep the grin on his face. "I have some news for you, Alfred, and I think you'll enjoy them. You'll be getting some company."

"Company?" Alfred asked, his voice a whisper. He was really so terrible a creature and Allistor thought he had progressed enough to have a companion. He smiled happily.

"I knew you would like it!" Allistor laughed. "You have been doing so well, Alfred, that I thought that I should reward you. Her name is Felicity, and she's just like you, alone and unable to help her species. She's a demon, but she is really quite lovely. I expect you will try and be polite to her as well?"

Alfred nodded excitedly. Allistor grinned.

"Then you'll meet her now! James, bring in Felicity."

A girl with curving horns and bright brown eyes entered. She pushed away a lock of black hair and extended a hand towards Alfred. "Hello, my name is Felicity. What is your name?"

There was a curious mechanical quality to the way she said it, like there was a mechanism inside her that dictated whatever she said. Alfred's smile cracked a little around the edges. "Alfred."

"Well," Felicity replied, "I hope we can be very good friends, you and I."

Her tone was musical, like a wind-up ballerina on a melody box. He was a little frightened of her, if he was honest. "That would be lovely, as we're supposed to be companions."

"That is true. Would you care to sit down and talk?" Felicity asked politely. Allistor left. The moment he was gone, all traces of the previous Felicity vanished.

"What are you? Did he sweep you too? Where are you from?" she demanded. Alfred damn near had a stroke.

"What are you talking about? What do you mean 'sweep'? I'm a Sylph, that's all I know," Alfred tried to lead her off, honestly terrified.

"This is bad, very bad," Felicity said, her voice panicked. "If he's got a Sylph, then his plan's almost complete. All he needs is a skinwalker, a shapeshifter, and a Magia. He's already gotten a demon, and a centaur, and a built creature. If he's gotten a Lost..."

"Then what?" Alfred frantically tried to scoot away, but her hand had a very strong grip on his arm.

"Then the integration will be complete, and the Icarus Society will have what it desires: chaos in the form of 'order'," she made finger quotes before dropping Alfred's arm. He rubbed at the bruise that had formed. "And everything the realms have tried to prevent will happen. Bloodshed, old hatreds arising, everything bad that happened before the Forgotten, Fire Land, and Inbetween were made."

Alfred stared at her. Was she mad? She might be, but then again, he kept having dreams...Dreams about a blond boy with violet eyes, someone with seaweed in their hair, someone whom he called 'Dad'. Maybe he had been 'swept', like she had suggested. Maybe Allistor was lying all along, and his brother wasn't trying to kill him.

"I can see you're doubting me, but please, give me a chance here," she said pleadingly. "I don't have much time. Any day now, he'll find someone who can complete the plan and make his dream a reality."

Alfred slipped on a spot of mud as he struggled to get away. But then a memory started playing with clarity in the back of his mind and he closed his eyes to remember, but all too soon it started to fade. There was that same violet-eyed boy, Alfred's same height and face but with curlier hair. He wore a red flannel, and his glasses reflected the light from wherever he was. He was holding a book, one with a black-haired, bespectacled boy, which read  _Harry Potter & the Chamber of Secrets._

 _"Alfred,"_  the boy seemed to laugh,  _"I'm your brother, silly. We'll always be together."_

Felicity could only stare in confusion as Alfred thrashed around, looking for his sword, the only link to the past he had. He was filled with a burning desire to  _remember_ , to feel tangibly memories as if they were happening now, to hold on to strings better left alone. The sword hummed in his grasp. It seemed to say,  _I know what you need._

Color, breathtaking in its vibrancy, spread like ink in his mind, a rainbow of memory. The blank page was colored in, lines and images trekking across gaily, though their content was not so cheerful. Blood and death, the pictures of war, marred the page like ugly scars and-

Then it stopped. The page was wiped clean again. Allistor was mindsweeping Alfred again, and he fought, but the darkness overcame him and he fell.

The blond fell to the floor, his sword clattering to the ground. Allistor smirked at the unconscious boy before turning to Felicity, who hissed.

"You really thought you could convince him? Pathetic, even for you, Jaskin."

"Nice try, Maleficis," Felicity said, an insane smile on her lips. She raised a small knife. Plunging the blade into the depths of her midriff, Allistor watched emotionlessly as she bled to death. A final breath escaped her lips and he captured the frosty air, placing it in a bottle.

"Breath of a dead demon," he said to the servant beside him, who was looking at him with a mixture of awe and confusion. The breath swirled in the glass, turning black as night with tinges of red.

"Clean  _it_  up before our golden boy here wakes up." He stared at Alfred, whose uneasy face somewhat amused him. Picking up the ice sword, he sliced his palm, letting the fire drip down on Felicity. He cut several times on Alfred's body, scruffing up his clothing and placing a rusty shield by his prone form.

In a swift movement, some servant picked up Felicity's flaming body, while Allistor kicked at a piece of gravel on the ground. Alfred groaned as he sat up, eyes open bearily. Allistor ran over some cover stories he had memorized before settling on the (in his opinion) best one.

"Good morning, sir," he said respectfully. "It is good to see you up and about again."

XXXXX

_Present Day, Kitsune Academy_

Matthew sped through the book, tossing it away when it was done like a child done with a toy. Grabbing the next, he read so fast his eyes blurred and he had a headache. But he had to keep going. Keep going for Alfred, who probably didn't even know their names anymore-

"Stop it," a stern voice said behind him. "you're not helping anyone while you're like this."

Matthew glared at whomever had spoken. Arthur was glaring behind him. "Shut up."

"Ooh, salty," another person said, peering around the shelves. Matthew scowled as Gilbert emerged with Francis.

"I do not think petit oiseau is very happy with us," Francis commented, looking Matthew over like a prime slab of steak. "He's frowning and his hands are fists."

"Maybe so," Arthur said, determined as always, "but that doesn't mean we should let our  _friend_  go insane over stuff like this!"

Matthew stopped at that statement, eyeing the three. "What do you want?"

"We  _want_ , or rather,  _insist_ ," Arthur retorted, "that you calm down and come with us. If you're dead tired and panicking, you are never going to find your brother, let alone take him back. Who knows, he might even be going on a bender at this moment, drinking away his sorrows?"

The joke fell flat in the thick, tense atmosphere. Matthew sighed as he stood up. "Fine."

Gilbert grinned. "If Alfred's going on a bender, can we?"

And so they did. Gilbert had somehow procured some firewhisky, the drink of Salamanders, and its burning flavor and warm feeling soon resided within all four. Arthur was a riot, his drunken accusations and curses toward them (mostly Francis) were both amusing and slightly insulting. He called Gilbert a "damn Hessian bastard" and Francis "a painted whore frog".

Matthew was drunk off his ass, as a laughing Gilbert proclaimed. Francis fainted for a moment, and it was a spectacular sight: he twirled on his feet as he fell, performing a pirouette before gracefully landing on his rear. Arthur pointed an empty bottle at Francis, saying, "he's with the tadpoles now".

Ivan eventually got caught in the midst of them, and soon he was taking shots of vodka with the rest of them. They played Truth or Dare, Gilbert lamenting that Matthew had yet to 'lick a fucking carpet', and a round of poker, the currency being shots.

At the end of it all (about three and a half hours later), Gilbert was passed out, occasionally giggling, Matthew was lying across Francis, singing 'O Canada' vigorously, Arthur blacked out his legs sticking over the top part of the couch, his head hanging at an awkward angle. To top it all off, Ivan was curled in a ball in the corner, whispering 'kolkolkol' and gripping a bottle of vodka as he slept.

Matthew was the first to wake up from his stupor, groaning at the ferocious headache hammering at his temples. He shook the rest awake, Ivan glaring and muttering threats when he was awoken. Arthur startled himself, flipping over when he swung his legs to the side. He nailed his head on the carpet and immediately started cursing at them loudly.

"Son of a whore, that bloody hurt you wankers, it might have been a  _nice thing_  if you twats warned me-"

"Oh, shut it," Matthew snapped. Arthur looked hurt for a moment before his scowl returned. Matthew knew it was all sarcasm and let it slide. "What time is it?"

"It is Saturday," Gilbert replied. "8:45 a.m."

"Thank god we don't have class," Francis said, groaning. He noticed a small camera on the floor. "What's this?"

Matthew spluttered for a moment, trying to find an answer. He had modified the camera to operate on magic, meaning that if he was in the same room with a Magia or source of magic, and he had the camera, he was able to use it on full battery. He had used the same technique on his mp3 player and laptop.

"It's a camera, dumbass," Gilbert snorted. Matthew breathed a sigh of relief. But then the pale boy spoke again.

"You know what sounds amazing?" Gilbert asked, staring blearily at what looked like a stain on his hand. "Food."

"Bloody hell, what time is it?" Arthur struggled to his feet, woozy. His knees buckled as he hit the carpet and sprawled. He lifted Matthew's wrist from where he was to see his watch before dropping it. "I need medical help."

"Got it," Matthew replied, grabbing water and some Advil. Thank god he had stocked up before he enrolled, he might have gone mad from inability to get rid of headaches.

Arthur watched as Matthew gathered supplies. "What are those little red things in your hand? Are you poisoning me?"

"Those, I'll have you know, are Advil," Matthew sniffed. As if he would poison someone. That's just plain gross to see.

"Adveell? What are Adveell?" Ivan asked from his corner. Francis couldn't help but grin and thank Hell that he couldn't feel pain. He remorsefully sighed as he remembered he could still get blackout drunk.

"It's a pill that makes headaches go away," Matthew explained patiently. He sounded like a adult teaching a preschooler.

"I'll take six then," Ivan decided as Arthur snatched the cup of water and pills from Matthew's outstretched arm. He swallowed them before speaking.

"How bloody long do these fuckers take?"

"Fifteen minutes to a half an hour, depends on how much you've eaten," Matthew said cheerfully. Arthur groaned.

"That is fifteen minutes to a half hour too long."

Matthew handed Ivan a bottle of water and Advil. He turned and glared at Arthur.

"Shut your mouth, and stop grouching. I could have just left you with a headache but I didn't, so zip it and just relish the fact that in fifteen minutes you are going to be as fit as a fiddle."

Francis laughed as Arthur went a brilliant shade of vermillion. The seaweed in his hair seemed to twist around as his eyes flashed red. The next thing they all knew, a fully formed horse was standing in the room.

The horse-Arthur whinnied and stomped the floor as he flooded all of their minds with the most British and long-lasting string of curses. Matthew went pink as Arthur went into great detail about Francis' sexual exploits, Gilbert's boasts about certain areas of his body, and Ivan's immense physical strength.

All in all, it was a miserable experience, though horse-Arthur, (or H.A., as Matthew called him) was a pretty red and cream color with brilliant blue eyes.

You fucking wankers all of you, I honestly cannot believe you went past the middle grades….

It escalated into a brawl, Ivan irritated at being insulted by a 'horseman', and Gilbert going insane over having his mind invaded by the awkward images Arthur projected about finding Francis in bed (naked) with one of his conquests.

Then a polar bear and a full-fledged werewolf went mad at a cream and red colored horse. Matthew could only turn into a bird and fly around in a panic while Francis just watched from the shelter of a closet.

COME AT ME TWATS, Arthur screamed as Ivan roared. Gilbert just growled. All three leaped at each other, Arthur kicking forward and ramming Ivan across the face. Gilbert slashed at a leg, and Arthur yelled.

Bloody hell, that fucking HURT!

Gilbert just smiled in a deranged sort of manner as tried to slice Arthur again. For his efforts, he was rewarded with a kick to the forehead. He spun away, knocked off balance, as Ivan attacked.

In the end, Ivan had bruises all over his face and body, Arthur had six long scratches across his arm, a bloody nose, and a black eye, and Gilbert had a hoof-shaped inprint on his forehead. All three were sitting in different corners of the room, nursing their wounds and glaring.

"You three are morons," Matthew scoffed as he treated the three's various bumps and bruises.

"I am not," Arthur sniffed, apparently back to normal. Ivan just shrugged.

"When your mind is assaulted with the image of a naked Francis doing the do with a girl, you tend to go a little crazy."

Gilbert was dazed from the forehead kick and he tried to kiss Matthew when he gently applied salve to the broken skin. Matthew just blushed as Francis rolled around with laughter.

"Wow, he must be mistaking you for someone else, not that I blame him," Arthur remarked, chuckling. Even Ivan was smirking.

"With your hair so long, I can't either."

"Anyone else notice their headache is gone?" Ivan questioned. Arthur nodded before wincing.

"If it wasn't, I might be going insane."

"You were insane, jackass," Matthew snarked. Ivan's smirk widened.

"It seems Matthew is getting a mean streak."

"I am not," Matthew defended. "It's just irritating when Arthur keeps bitching."

Arthur sputtered at the comment. Francis' grin was a bit frightening, it was as if a great, sarcastic, and evil plan had just formed.

"Oh, Arthur, that reminds me, you can read minds, oui?"

Arthur nodded. Francis continued. "I have a little secret to tell you about Ivan here…."

The next thing they all knew, Arthur was a horse again. He morphed back into his previous form before settling on the equine choice. Then he stomped, as loudly and painfully as possible, on Francis' foot. And Francis remembered that he could, in fact, feel pain if the pressure or force was great enough.

There was a loud snap as Francis' foot broke. He swore in rapid French, cursing Arthur within an inch of his life. Matthew flushed red, the only other one to know what the dead man was saying.

Arthur turned human again and laughed uproariously. "That's what you get, git!"

Then he laughed at his own pun, oblivious to the heavy textbook Francis had grabbed. The other blond dropped the book on Arthur's foot in retaliation.

"Ha, ha, ha- OW! SON OF A WHORE!"

Francis apparently was getting some severely disturbing mental images from Arthur because his eyes became wide as saucers and he froze.

"Oh my hell," was the only thing they could get- or git- out of him for the next twenty minutes.

Matthew had no idea what Francis could possibly have seen- Arthur being a drag-queen, having sex with someone?- but he knew he didn't want to know at all. Gilbert seemed to be of the same mindset as well.

"So," Arthur said briskly, "who cares to drink again and stumble down to the cafeteria?"

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Matthew hastily stuck the empty bottles of firewhisky under a loose floorboard while Ivan hid the Advil (god help them if they were found). Francis snapped out of his funk as Gilbert fixed the room in general. Arthur just watched them.

All of this happened in twenty seconds. Matthew opened the door to reveal a pissed-off Mr. Jackson.

"What are you five doing in here? Why are Kirkland, Beilschmidt, and Braginsky hurt? You better give an explanation or six weeks' detention!"

Matthew searched for an answer before Francis smoothly cut in. "Monsieur Jackson, the three transformed as a dare. We apologise for the noise and realize it is early, but the three seem to always wake up early. We were having a boys' night out."

"I see. Did you also paint your nails and gossip?" Mr. Jackson jeered. He started to leave before stopping. "If anything like this ever happens again, I won't hesitate to bring in General Winter."

The five shuddered as he left. Francis closed the door before rounding on Arthur. "If your dumb ass hadn't grouched so much, then we might have passed our little booze party as an innocent sleepover."

Arthur smacked his forehead in agitation then groaned in discomfort. "You were the one who got me drunk, and you know what I'm like the morning after. And Matthew's insults didn't help."

"I just told you to shut up!" an incredulous Matthew cut in. "If you stopped griping, then I might have stayed silent. But turning into a horse and insulting us while also showing us parts of Francis I never, ever, want to see again was a bit much."

Ivan just watched the exchange in a bemused sort of way. He lifted the loose floorboard and grabbed the vodka left over. Taking a long swig, he offered Gilbert some.

"Thank hell, everyone knows day-drinking is the way to go with a hangover," the pale boy said as he chugged a good quarter of what was left.

They put themselves back together, Arthur trying and failing not to blush miserably about the fact he was dressed like a male stripper (though he did, in fact, look nice). Francis made sure to take a long look at the bare legs before Arthur slipped his jeans back on.

"I'm out," Gilbert said, leaving. Francis and Ivan left afterward, and Arthur vanished after a few minutes, grumbling about 'going punk today, I swear to god'.

Matthew brushed his hair and teeth quickly, staring at his underlined-with-black eyes and messy hair. Pulling on a white t-shirt and a lavender, buttoning overshirt, he thought about Alfred with a twinge of regret. The two of them had issues, and he knew it.

But now was not the time to regret and keep regretting. It would be a while until he saw Alfred again, he knew. So it wouldn't do to have him crying his eyes out about someone missing. Emotion ruined rationality, as his father always said.

He stumbled to the cafeteria, the effects of last night's liquor giving its all. The bright light and loud voices only added to the symphony of misery and irritation that was currently picking away at Matthew's sanity.

Ordering sugary tea and hoping the weak amount of caffeine it contained would help him perk up, he waited in line with an exhaustion he hadn't felt in years.

The tea was steaming, the cup burning his fingers as he walked. He didn't care, and when he sat down at the table, Gilbert exclaimed in surprise.

"We left you alone for fifteen minutes!" The pale boy looked him over, the bruise on his forehead prominent against the white of his skin. Francis was looking at him critically while Ivan shrugged. Arthur, however, was completely surprising.

He was decked out in all black, his eyes lined and smudged, his hair a complete riot of green and blond. There were two silver hoops in his ear near the top of the arch. His hands were encased in leather fingerless gloves, fingernails colored onyx, and black combat boots were on his feet. His pants, ebony denim, were skintight, as was his shirt. A leather jacket and a bandanna of the British flag around his wrist finished the look. Arthur glared challengingly at Matthew, bruises and bloody nose gone.

"Need something?"

Matthew could only sip the scalding tea. He noticed the seaweed in Arthur's hair was alternately green and black, flashing brightly. And that there were several girls checking out the blond.

"Jesus, Arthur," Matthew managed to choke out, "you weren't kidding when you said you were 'going punk'."

"Of course I wasn't, you think I'm going to be a grandfather's ideal fashion all the time?" Arthur snapped. Francis swooned, as did his horde of admirers.

"I hope that green is permanent," Ivan commented. "Though I'm unsure of how you managed that in ten minutes."

"Simple concealing spell," Arthur waved an airy hand. "I have to, unless my cousins will mock me for being a 'green man'."

"Not sure how that's an insult," Matthew said, "but okay."

"It's basically saying that I'm a fairy in nature, sniffing and becoming a flower. It's more insulting than you think."

Ivan nodded. "That is true."

Gilbert was immersed in checking out Arthur's admirers. "Damn, Arthur, can I have some of 'em?"

"Sure," Arthur replied, "none of them are my type anyway."

Gilbert set off toward them, grinning. It was only a few minutes until one of the girls slapped him and they moved to another (closer to Arthur) table.

The werewolf returned, saddened. He perked up back in his seat, snatching away Matthew's tea. He took a huge drink and immediately regretted it.

"HOLY HELL!" he screamed, spraying tea on Francis and Ivan. Matthew knew what would happen before it happened and had ducked under the table, and Arthur hastily constructed a magical shield before being hit by the boiling liquid.

Ivan's cheerful attitude vanished in a blink. Producing a steel sink pipe from somewhere on his person, he grabbed a hissing Gilbert by the back of the neck before smacking the albino on the shoulder with the weapon.

"Son of a bitch, that hurt!" Gilbert swore. Ivan grinned evilly.

"I would hope so. Maybe next time, you won't steal and drink hot tea."

Francis and Arthur were howling in laughter, as was the rest of the cafeteria. Gilbert went crimson and sulked.

"Asshats."

"It's what you deserve, Pale Man!" one of Arthur's admirers shouted, cackling.

"Shut it, Clarissa, I know you slept with half the male dormitory!" Gilbert snapped back loudly. The cafeteria went silent for a moment. Then a yell of "ooh, burn" emerged from the masses and they were laughing at her.

Clarissa flushed a purplish-red color and muttered something under her breath. Gilbert smirked. "Idiot thinks she can insult the awesome me? She's stupid."

Francis wiped a tear from his cheek and smiled. "Well done, Gilbert, you got an entire cafeteria to laugh at someone."

"So," Arthur asked conversationally, "how did you know Clarissa's slept with half the Academy's male population?"

"Rumors spread," Gilbert shrugged. "I'm not the only one who knows. I have tons of friends who've been approached by her."

"Fair enough," Arthur conceded. It wouldn't matter if she slept with a thousand men or just one, so long as she stopped awkwardly flirting. "I've also been extended the offer."

"I know," Gilbert replied. "That's why I made that comment."

The girl in question was muttering under her breath again, waving around a magic wand. Matthew's eyes widened as he watched.

"Uh, Gilbert, you might need a ward," he said awkwardly. Gilbert followed his train of thought and looked at Clarissa.

"Arthur, little help?"

Arthur looked over at Clarissa and sighed before waving his hand. Instantly, Gilbert was shrouded in green. "You're welcome."

"Thanks," came the muffled reply. A second later, a vibrant pink spell shot at Gilbert. It was absorbed by the ward. Six others followed, all a bright pink. Clarissa scowled before putting the wand away.

Arthur removed the ward, frowning. "That's the sixth time this month that's happened."

"Sorry," Gilbert grinned. The only remnant of the magic was the green shine to his maroon eyes. "Guess I just attract trouble."

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

_Location in the Forgotten, Present Day_

Alfred watched as Allistor paced around with a feeling of importance. His mission was always important, always there. It was necessary, it was of vital importance to their cause. He could believe in the cause. The cause was always right.

"You need to be perfect," Allistor stated clearly, accent as present as ever. "Everyone knows you there. You must act the same, but report to me."

"I know, Allistor," Alfred said scathingly. They had been over this a half-dozen times, and it was irking him that Allistor had no faith. He knew what had to be done, and he would do it to the best of his ability. His fighting skills were perfect, and so was he.

"Good," Allistor replied. "Then I will send you back immediately. Remember, they will act familiarly with you. Matthew, the blond boy I told you about, he is your brother. You must be prepared to endure physical contact without retaliation."

He set a hand on Alfred's shoulder, his yellow eyes burning with an intensity Alfred knew he could never match. Allistor was hundreds, perhaps thousands of years old. He had seen bloodshed and death, and his mind was perhaps forever scarred by what he had seen. Alfred nodded and watched Allistor.

The Fire Portal came in a flash, igniting the room in shades of gold and crimson. Allistor's hair looked flaming and his eyes glinted. Alfred stepped through the Portal, sword strapped to his back, and waited for the world he knew to vanish.

XXXXX

_Kitsune Academy, Present Day_

Matthew watched as Ivan and Gilbert argued about something. Arthur was strutting ahead of them, gathering appreciative looks like a magnet- and discarding them like torn and dirty clothing he didn't want.

The warm air was nice, but there was a thick fog that lay around the Academy like a snake. They could barely see three feet in front of their faces in the mist, and it was a foolish thing to try and navigate it- Kitune's fog was legendary for leading someone astray.

He couldn't stop thinking about his brother- it worried him that Alfred could be literally anywhere in the realms- but it reassured him to know Alfred would never go down in a fight. He remembered how Alfred had fought off that Vetala years ago- and cringed when the memory returned full force.

_The floor was bloodstained, the vampire done with Sam Williams' body. Matthew cowered in a corner, ashamed to be doing so but scared out of his mind. Alfred was sprawled in the center of the room, unconscious but still breathing. Matthew didn't know that._

_All he knew was that his father and brother were dead. The Vetala turned and stared at him._

_"What I wouldn't give to kill you too, little bird," it smirked, the bloody red of it's mouth glistening in the moonlight. Matthew whimpered._

_And then Alfred attacked. He slammed a board into its temple, rising from the floor like a demon possessed. Matthew screamed. The Vetala crumpled, bruised from the force-_

"Matthew? Matthew!" a voice said near him. Matthew blinked in the light, and he realized he was lying on the floor, spread-eagled. His back ached. Francis stared down, a concerned look on his face.

_The Vetala would be back- and he was covered in blood too, his father's, his brother's, he hurt so bad. His arm seemed split-_

"He just passed out, is he alright?" a worried Gilbert asked. Katyusha emerged from the horde around him and pressed a gentle hand to his neck.

"He's breathing," she said calmly. Arthur exhaled from his position by Matthew's hip. "Thank god."

"All right, everyone, clear out! Nothing to see here!" Ivan shooed everyone away save for Matthew's friends. People grumbled but eventually dispersed.

"What happened?" Matthew croaked out. Visions of scarlet liquid flashed in his mind. He pushed himself up woozily.

"You collapsed, right out of the blue," Katyusha replied, still serene and calm. Matthew groaned.

"Goddammit, not again."

"Again?!" Arthur nearly yelled. "You collapse suddenly  _often_?"

"Yes," Matthew said sheepishly. "It's not anything to worry about."

This time it was Ivan who spoke. "Yes, it is. If you mysteriously collapse, then something is wrong. Do you have a disease? Memories of things you don't want? It's not uncommon."

"The second one," Matthew said quietly. Francis stared at him before speaking.

"You have traumatic memories? That's horrible! You should try and 'unlock' them, it's an effective method."

"Nah," a familiar, yet-not voice said by them. "That's what makes people like Mattie here go insane."

Matthew started. Standing behind them was Alfred, grinning like an idiot and just seeming  _off_. His sword was strapped to his back. Arthur lunged at the Sylph and pinned him to the floor with his thighs.

"Where the hell have you been, you bloody wanker? You really think you could just come here all 'nah' and get away with it?"

Arthur swung at Alfred wildly. Matthew snorted. That was just like his brother, appearing suddenly and acting like he didn't give everyone he knew a heart attack. Alfred blocked the punch and shoved Arthur off. And Matthew realized what was wrong about Alfred.

His brother didn't wear black leather that looked more like armor than clothing.

His brother didn't have a tattoo of an wolf on his right wrist and the saying  _secretum liberum animum_.

His brother didn't wear a sword across his back. He always said it was harder to get to than on the waist.

His brother didn't smile like that, a smile that looked like it belonged to a predator.

Whoever this was, this wasn't his brother. And that startled Matthew. He stared at this person, one that looked precisely like his brother but  _not_. He lunged and shoved this Alfred to the wall.

"Who the hell are you? Where is my brother?"

"Chill, dude," Alfred yelled, eyes wide. He held out his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm Alfred F. Williams-Jones, born on July 4th. You're my brother, Matthew Alexandre Williams-Jones, born July 1st. Our father died when we were seven and our mother when we were three. A nurse named Julie tried to sell you on the black market when we were eleven."

Matthew let up, releasing Alfred and backing away. His eyes narrowed. "What's with the tattoo?"

"I decided to get it, ya know? Freedom, right?" Alfred laughed a little nervously under Matthew's glare. Arthur pressed a comforting palm to the Halcyon's shoulder.

"Calm down, Matthew, that's Alfred. If he decided to get a tattoo, then it's fine."

Matthew exhaled and stepped backward again. "Whatever, Al."

Alfred looked relieved and swallowed noticably. Matthew sighed as he remembered that he himself had a tattoo, and within its feathers was written a quote: "War does not determine who is right- only who is left". It was etched in a elegant black script, swirling lines spelling out the words.

"So," Alfred said, "I'm starving, anyone wanna go on a food run?"

And they did. They raided the supply of candy a demon kept on hand (given for a price), ordered a ridiculous amount of food from the cafeteria, set up a war stand in the gymnasium, and raised hell in general.

It was the most fun Matthew could remember having.

They made forts from rubber mats and armed themselves with food. They partnered together, Katyusha their reluctant referee. Ivan and Gilbert paired together- and utterly destroyed the four others.

Arthur had to strip off his jacket and gloves while Alfred lauched a volley of pancakes at Matthew and Francis, who were arming themselves with scrambled eggs from a tray.

Matthew was a warrior with maple syrup, soaking every enemy he encountered. His pancakes were no gentle throws either, smacking down Arthur with one hit to the face and Ivan with a well-aimed throw to the shoulder.

Gilbert constructed a fort of dummies and foam good enough to stop an arrow. He kept up a steady stream of egg fire while Ivan took down people on the battlefield. Arthur was dueling Francis with a baguette, the latter grabbing a tray and defending himself.

All the while, Matthew watched his brother. He didn't know what it was, but Alfred wasn't  _Alfred_ , for lack of a better word. He was an unknown entity, something to be wary of and cautious about touching lest it poison them all.

He watched Alfred, who seemed just different. Not himself. He would find it out later.

The Breakfast War split a few hours later, covered in syrup, eggs, and generally breakfast-y food. Matthew trailed after the others, still watching Alfred curiously. And then he saw it- Alfred had a small mirror hanging from his waist. And from that mirror, a face was looking out.

Matthew stared after them, feeling apprehensive. If this wasn't Alfred, then who was it? A shapeshifter? A Magia? A warlock? The possiblities were endless, and it frightened him. He didn't realize he had stopped until Arthur looked over at him, green and blond hair mussed, and yelled at him to hurry up.

The dorms were silent, and Matthew was wondering when they had gotten there. His limbs ached, and he just wanted to shower and sleep. But that wasn't possible just yet.

Alfred was already in the shower, so Matthew waited. He thought about the mirror, what is could mean. A horrible possibility came to mind. Perhaps Alfred was dead and that was a ghost possessing him. He chuckled quietly. That was ridiculous.

Alfred emerged a few minutes later, dressed in skinny jeans and a white t-shirt. He gave Matthew a weird look. "Aren't ya gonna shower?"

Matthew nodded awkwardly and went into the bathroom. As he undressed, he thought further about the mirror. Maybe it was a Looking Glass, magical materials enchanted to be used as a way to spy and watch things.

He stepped under the warm spray of water and kept thinking. When at last he shut it off and toweled off, he dressed quickly and pressed an ear to the door. There were multiple voices. One was Alfred's, yet not.

Alfred's voice was cold, and he was discussing the missing people like slabs of meat, used and abused at their buyer's whim. There was another voice, rough yet lilting with a thick Scottish accent.

 _"Don't mess it all up,"_ the Scottish man said. Matthew heard Alfred snort.

_"I won't, capturing him should be as easy as pie. I'll get 'em by this evening."_

_"Good,"_  the Scot replied.  _"You bungled that one mission, don't screw up this one."_

 _"I won't, Allistor,"_ Alfred retorted derisively. And that was when Matthew opened the door, trying not to act like he was listening just a moment before.

Quick as a flash, Alfred slipped the mirror under his pillow and smiled brightly. Matthew glared.

"What have you done with my brother?"

Alfred laughed. It was long and cold and so unlike Alfred that it chilled Matthew's blood. "I see you heard what we were talking about. My mistake."

Matthew crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes, I did. And I'm going to get my brother back."

"I am your brother, idiot," Alfred said languidly, stretching. "Just better. Not broken. I have been put in a mold and emerged perfect."

"No, you're not perfect," Matthew retorted, stepping closer. Alfred tensed slightly.

"So what if I'm not," Alfred challenged. And he attacked, the sword he had been hiding swinging through the air. Matthew dodged.

"Alfred, this isn't you!"

"Yes, it is," Alfred roared, stabbing at Matthew. The latter felt the blade pierce his skin slightly and the pain brought him into focus. This was just gym class, and he was facing off against an opponent.

Matthew rolled to the side, snatching up a amethyst sword he had borrowed from the gym. He blocked Alfred's slashes and stabs, returning them with equal force. Alfred, in what seemed like desperation, threw himself behind Matthew.

The latter turned just in time to feel the butt of a sword smash against his skull. He crumpled, and the last thing he knew was Alfred smirking above him.


	11. Chapter 11

_Undisclosed Location in the Forgotten, Present Day_

Matthew awoke with a start. His head ached, and his hands seemed bound. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he saw several other bodies around him, all in various states of consciousness.

"Hello?" he croaked out, throat raw. Someone shifted near him and turned their head. Bright violet eyes met his own. Matthew gasped. "Ivan?"

"Da," Ivan replied, his voice scratchy. "Did Alfred take you too?"

Matthew nodded, his throat practically screaming in pain. He raised a hand and felt around his neck. It was tender. "How'd he get you?"

Ivan coughed, a rattling sound that came from the very innards of his chest. "He fought like nothing I've ever seen before. He was practically a whirlwind, he was so fast. He managed to get behind me and slam into my back. I fell and hit the floor."

"Is anyone else here?" Matthew was concerned. If  _Ivan Braginsky_ , legendary for fighting skills, was captured, who else had Alfred gotten?

"Arthur, Francis, Kiku, Gilbert, and I are here. There's no sign of the other people taken, it's possible that Allistor has already used them for his purpose." Ivan stretched out, but it failed. His hands were tightly bound, and as he moved, Matthew caught a glimpse of bruises and raw skin from where the rope was too tight and chafing.

"Arthur?" Matthew called out. A form shifted and looked around, meeting Matthew's eyes with stormy green ones. Arthur's hair was mussed, a mess of green and blond, and his clothing was ripped and torn, still-bleeding scratches covering his body.

"Yes?" Arthur groaned, moving his body cautiously. "I see he got you too."

"How'd he get you? I thought he could never beat you."

"Well," Arthur started sarcastically. "That was the true Alfred, not the mindswept and brainwashed one. I've never fought anyone like that before. Kiku got it worse, I think he had a broken bone."

Matthew had a bright idea at the moment. "Can we transform? Get out of these ropes?"

Arthur sighed. "We already tried. It's Kelpie bridle, and it's magically enhanced to keep any shapeshifter from altering their form. Allistor added a few tricks as well. Try to transform-"

Arthur's form started to shift, then there was a flash of yellow. Arthur yelped, and there was a new scratch on his thigh. "-and we get a shock and an injury."

"Wow," Matthew said. "What can you do to break the spell?"

"Kelpie bridle's a dangerous thing to mess with," another, quieter voice stated. Kiku. He looked at Matthew seriously. "If you take a Kelpie's bridle, you have the monster completely under your control. When you kill a Kelpie, the bridle remains, but different magic is attached to it. It reacts violently with different Magia, and Elementals are one of the few able to shape the magic if they wish. Tsuchigumo, like me, aren't able to."

"So you've already established that Allistor's a Salamander then?" Matthew inquired. Arthur nodded.

"Most definitely, but he's got warlock blood. He's able to make Fire Portals, summon demons, mindsweep, anything a warlock or Salamander can."

Matthew agreed with their assessment. But if an Elemental were to mate with another species (like in Alfred's case for instance), then the Elemental would win.

But Matthew was part Elemental, and he wasn't one. He was a Halcyon, the only species able to trump Elementals for that particular spot as the person's species. As twins, Alfred and Matthew were their parents: Alfred was the Sylph, and Matthew was the Halcyon.

"I see," Matthew replied. "Arthur, you're an Each Uisge, right?"

"Yes," Arthur affirmed slowly. "But why-"

"And Each Uisge are related to the Kelpies?"

"Yes-"

"Then you should be able to shape the magic." Matthew's mind raced a mile a minute. They could get out, escape, figure out how to reverse the mindsweeping-

"Matthew, I'm not able to," Arthur said quietly. "The magic's too wild and in Allistor's control. Only he can remove them, or Alfred."

"Oh." Matthew was disappointed. He sighed, and the door to the room banged open.

Alfred emerged, smirking cruelly. The ice sword was strapped to his back, and the wolf tattoo shined brightly, its words a stain on Alfred's skin.  _Secretum liberum animum._ "Alright, you prisoners, stand up. Allistor wants to see you, and he's got a mission."

They all stood, Kiku hissing as he went. Arthur made no noise, but Matthew caught a brief wince. Two prone forms were still on the ground, unmoving. Alfred walked over, whistling the theme to  _Speed_. He drew back his foot.

And kicked harshly. Gilbert moaned in pain and tried to rise to his knees. Alfred sent a kick to his side and the werewolf toppled. Reaching out a hand, Alfred grabbed the back of Gilbert's shirt and sent him to the rest of the group. Francis was still.

Alfred drew his sword and slashed at Francis, slicing a wide cut on his arm. Francis startled awake and opened his eyes blearily. "What?"

"What is right," Alfred snarled. "Get up or be tortured."

Francis scrambled to his feet, practically sprinting to them. Alfred smiled.

"Good. Move."

He led them through a winding hallway, growling when they didn't walk fast enough or fell behind. Once, when Kiku stumbled, Alfred drew his sword and carved out a piece of Kiku's leg. The wound bled freely as they jogged to keep up.

They arrived at a large iron door. Alfred knocked twice, and a pair of yellow eyes peeked through a slot. The door creaked aside to reveal a redheaded man with gold eyes that glittered with malice.

Allistor Maleficis. Spokesman of the Icarus Society. Kidnapper. Mindsweeper. Perhaps killer. Matthew hated him already. The warlock spread his hands, and a ball of fire appeared. It shot around the group, and their bindings fell away. Matthew rubbed his chafed wrists and saw the rest doing the same.

"So," Allistor drawled, accent as present as ever. "You are the ones who have been giving me so much trouble. Nice work, Alfred."

Matthew wanted to snarl and rip this man's throat out. Ivan, beside him, was flexing his fingers, claws starting to emerge. Allistor smirked.

"Well, well, well. Ivan Braginsky. Skinwalker, born on December 30. You have two sisters, Natalya and Katyusha. Your parents died when you were eleven, and you have been at the Academy since then."

Ivan snarled but his eyes radiated fear. Matthew shuddered. How much did this man know?

"Arthur Kirkland. Each Uisge. Born on April 23. You killed your first human when you were two. Your father sent you to the Academy soon after and you haven't seen him since."

Arthur's eyes widened. Allistor continued, soaking in their shock and terror.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt. Born on January 18. Lived with your brother for most of your life. Kiku Honda. Born on February 11. Killed your human mother after hse adandoned you. Found by General Winter and sent to the Academy."

Kiku stifled a gasp and Gilbert glared.

"Francis Bonnefoy. Born on July 14. After not being buried, you wandered around in spirit form until you found your body and possessed it. You found the Inbetween, and eventually the Forgotten."

Francis looked numb to the tale.

"And Matthew. I know all about you. Born on July 1, you were the elder twin on Alfred, born on July 4. You have been a criminal for years, sneaking into the Fire Land to get things for your brother. Your mother died when you were seven from Green Sickness, and your father was murdered by a Vetala. You were sent to several orphanages, all of them kicking you out for being too quiet. One of your guardians at one of them tried to sell you."

Allistor's smirk widened. He was enjoying this, the sick bastard. "You attended Le Crete for six years, and were never able to find a friend. You were sent to the side, forgotten by everyone while Alfred enjoyed the attention. You only registered for Kitsune Academy after someone tried to kidnap Alfred."

They were all staring, Gilbert, Francis, Ivan, and Arthur. They all looked at him with pity. Kiku was staring at him, eyes narrowed. Allistor grinned, unfeeling to the hatred practically being stabbed into his sides.

"Is that true?" Arthur whispered. "Your mother died from Green Sickness?"

Matthew nodded, his heart in his Sickness was the name for when a nature spirit went insane and possessed people. The ones afflicted suffered vines sprouting from their skin, eyes that clouded over, insanity, and they weren't themselves anymore. The only way to cure them was to kill them.

Matthew wasn't there when his father had to make that final stroke, but the scream that reverbrated around the house was as clear as if he was there in the room.

"Now," Allistor clapped his hands, and they all looked toward him. "I need something from you all. I need you to go to the Frost."

There was a long yell and commotion. Arthur had leaped at Allistor, and Ivan was just barely holding him back. Arthur snarled and roared obscenities until all of them, save Alfred and Allistor, wered red in the face.

"Let me go, you furball, or I swear to Hell, I will kill you myself!"

"No," Ivan said firmly, holding on to Arthur. Arthur screamed himself hoarse, but he eventually calmed down, glaring as Ivan released him. Allistor smirked.

"I see Artie's got a temper," he said. "Why don't you tell your friends why you dislike the Frost?"

Arthur snarled. "Burn in hell."

"Been there, done that, got back," Allistor waved an airy hand. "But there's a reason you don't like the Frost, right? Little cousin?"

"Yes," Arthur admitted. Allistor grinned, his voice ruthless.

"Then tell your so-called  _friends_  what happened the last time you went to the Frost, hmm? How you killed your friend?"

It was at that moment Matthew realized how dangerous Allistor really was. He could send Arthur, one of the most collected and sarcastic people Matthew had ever met, and turned him into a snarling mess. When Arthur was mad, he was still collected. He held himself back.

But Allistor had ripped that away, and this was the truly angry Arthur, a force ready to slice throats and murder until his purpose was achieved.

Arthur breathed in. His eyes were flashing between red and green, and the seaweed in his hair was twisting dangerously.

"When I was twelve, I wanted to go to the Frost. I had a friend, a demon who was much older than I was at the time. I was interested in the worlds then, and the demon knew it. His name was Conlidam, and he was amazing. Or so I thought. I din't know then his name was derived from the Latin words for 'shatter'."

He took a deep breath. Allistor was still beaming malevolently.

"He enthralled me with stories of the Frost, how wonderful and magical it was, how it was the best place to see, better than the Fire Land and the Omniscient. I used to look out at the Noctis, thinking of his stories."

Arthur paused, collecting himself. He continued in the same dead tone he had used before.

"Conlidam told me he could take me there. I prepared myself, getting supplies for a short trip. He had a ring that allowed him to travel anywhere he wanted. He used it to get us there. It was only when he arrived there, and I got a huge cut on my back, that I realized that he had lied. The Frost wasn't wonderful."

"There were illusions at every turn. I saw the humans I had killed, people who I saw die...Conlidam tried to murder me, his true form escaping. I saw it for a split second. I had a knife with me, and I had to kill him. I left him in the snow, which was dyed black from his blood. I stole his ring, and Portaled back to the Academy. As soon as I could, I destroyed the ring, and dropped the pieces in the lake. And I never went back."

They were all silent for a minute, then Allistor clapped loudly.

"Lovely story, Artie," he said, grinning. "But I'm afraid you'll have to go back."

Arthur opened his mouth, but no sound escaped. He grabbed at his throat. Allistor waved his hands, and a Portal appeared. Alfred shoved them all through before stepping through. He waved a cheery hand at Allistor before disappearing.

And they were in the Frost.

XXXXX

_General Winter's Office, Kitsune Academy, Present Day_

He paced back and forth in front of her. Mr. Yao was beside him, scowling. Hannah stared determinedly at the floor.

"I'll ask it again," Mr. Yao said sharply. "Where is Allistor Maleficis?"

The blade in his hand was thrust through her shoulder blade. She howled, head thrown back and body trying to curl in on itself. Blood dripped down, staining the already crimson-covered floor.

"I don't know!" she wailed, her voice cracked and throat torn. "I don't know!"

Mr. Yao put the knife through her other shoulder. She screamed. "How did you meet him?"

"I've known him for centuries. I met him when I was still human-  _please!_ " A blade slashed at her arm, crisscrossing the many other injuries already there. General smiled.

"Where was this?"

"The Goat's Skin, a tavern, it was in 1645," she panted out. Her face was screwed up and in agony. "He said he could save my daughter, who was dyin' from the plague. He made her and me into clockwork machines, and he took our souls."

"Where is your daughter now?"

"He took her, I don't know where," Hannah's eyes fixed on a small mirror on a shelf. "The mirror!"

At this, General was confused. The mirror was a simple one. He nodded at Mr. Yao, who questioned her about her statement.

"He had a small mirror just like that one! A Looking Glass..."

General had all he needed. With a small flick of his fingers, he signaled to Mr. Yao that her purpose was done.

"Please, please, no,  _PLEASE!_ " she yelled out the last part as Mr. Yao slowly approached her. The blade was a shiny grey color from her blood. "Please, no-"

The blade entered her chest and her body seemed to writhe around it. Silver exploded from her chest, and gurgling sounds came from deep within. General wrinkled his nose. He had no taste for clockwork creatures. Mr. Yao was unaffected, cleaning off the blade.

"Should I fetch the next one?"


	12. Chapter 12

_Present Day_

The first thing Alfred knew about the Frost was pain. Pain that exploded across his back and melded his black leather jacket to him like glue. Pain that took everything else away and left him to die.

He looked around, pushing himself to his feet. A wind whipped around him, slicing through his clothes and chilling him to the bone. And he was alone.

Whispers filled his mind. One voice he knew well. Mattie's- wait, no, that's couldn't be it, he had never called that Halcyon 'Mattie'-

There was a shimmering in front of him, and a shining form of Matthew appeared. He was wearing a pure white robe, the front where his chest was open. A bright tattoo of a Halcyon was imprinted there, and Alfred could see words hidden in the curve of its wing. The specter opened its mouth.

_This isn't you. You are not this Alfred. You were never meant to be this way. Remember! Remember!_

The fake Matthew's form changed. His hair grew longer and messier, and the robe was exchanged for a red flannel, opened to show bandages across the chest. A cigarette dangled from this new Matthew's lips as he spoke, his voice a sneer. His eyes glowed a reddish purple.

 _Pathetic. I always had to take care of you, the weak Sylph. I don't even want to_ look _at your face. You're a failure, and I wasn't able to stop it. Maybe I didn't_ want _to. Maybe I don't even_ care _about you. You aren't even good enough. You break everything you touch._

Alfred dug his hands into his hair. The specter hissed at him, a smirk playing across its lips. It leaned forward.

_I hope you die._

Alfred didn't even know why, but he collapsed to his knees in the snow. The fake Matthew, this evil thing, hovered by him. Alfred lifted a shaking hand to his face.

"You're not Matthew-" Alfred started. The fake Matthew giggled.

_Who's to say I am real? Who's here to say you aren't fake and I'm the real one?_

"No," Alfred moaned. "That's not true-"

_Then why don't you remember, Alfred? We are brothers, after all._

The spirit touched Alfred, and whirlwinds of color and memory flashed behind his eyelids. Alfred collapsed, memories overtaking him. The spirit grinned, and its mouth opened to reveal sword-sharp teeth.

The snow whipped around them both, obscuring them from the eyes of any others.

XXXXX

Arthur wobbled to his feet, his knees almost giving out. Every muscle in his body shrieked as he held himself up. He groaned as the snow entered his wounds and the confines of his clothes.

The air glowed in front of him. A shimmering ghost appeared, their figure somewhat obscured. It revealed itself to be someone-

Someone who looked just like Arthur, but not. He didn't have curly red hair that spilled over his forehead in a mess of tangles and blue eyes that practically shone with madness. He didn't have freckles that showed as well as this Arthur did.

"Who are you?" Arthur croaked out, his throat ravaged and cold. The specter smirked.

 _I'm the better you,_ its grin widened.  _I am the one you always wanted to be, even in the blackest parts of you._

Arthur's body toppled like dominoes as the spirit smirked.

 _I am Oliver, the better,_ much better _, I might add, Arthur Kirkland. And I always get what I want, even from my dearest 'friends'._

At the word 'friends', Oliver's eyes flashed red and his voice dropped to a savage growl. His mouth opened, and large fangs emerged. They dripped with saliva and something gold that Arthur didn't want to think about.

_And you, Arthur Kirkland, are to be my next friend._

"That's not happening," Arthur stated clearly. The spirit laughed. Arthur resumed. "You're a Mindbreaker, and I won't let you defeat me."

 _Really?_ Oliver asked.  _Your dear friend Alfred certainly let me- quite willingly at that, you would not believe how easily I drained him. Sylph blood tastes of mountain streams, you know? I couldn't let him go after a taste- it's been a while since I knew what the mountains felt like._

Arthur released a guttural scream. He slashed aimlessly at Oliver with a knife he had found, but the Mindbreaker easily evaded him.

_'Til next time, Arthur dear._

It vanished in a flash of red light. Arthur wandered, calling out names.

"Ivan? Kiku? Alfred? Matthew? ANYONE?"

The wind seemed to cackle.

XXXXX

Matthew looked around. It seemed he was in a forest paradise- sunshine falling through leaves dappled with shadows, animals flying and running and moving about. The place pulsed with life. But why was he so cold?

 _Lovely, isn't it?_ a voice asked of him. Matthew turned.

And there was Alfred if Alfred had a different color scheme and had a nail-studded baseball bat.

This not-Alfred grinned. His eyes were a dark brown, almost red. Hair, so dark it was nearly black, lay in messy waves on his head. From his vantage point, Matthew could see five different piercings: a stud in his nose, a lip ring, two studs underneath his lips, and a ring in his eyebrow.

"Who the hell are you?"

 _Name's Allen,_  the specter said.  _I'm the better Alfred._

A small part of Matthew said 'no, you're not, stop pretending to be my brother', but he just nodded. Allen smiled.

_Nice to see someone who agrees._

Allen walked over to where a squirrel was peacefully eating a walnut. Raising the bat, he swung. It collided with the squirrel's head, smashing its skull. Matthew cringed at the crunch.

"Why the hell did you do that?"

 _Because I can, of course,_ Allen said smugly. He raised the weapon again.

"NO!" Matthew yelled. A breeze threw him off balance as he struggled to get to Allen in time to at least bury the poor thing. But- a  _breeze_  knocking him off balance? And why was he still so cold?

Allen smirked at his predicament.  _You're stuck in your own dreamscape. How entertaining. Only you can get out of it._

"What are you?" Matthew asked, feeling pathetic. He was stuck in his own mind, for god's sake. Allen beamed.

 _A Mindbreaker, at your service. Or what counts for it in this hell-forsaken place._ Allen bowed.

Matthew's mind raced. Mindbreakers were practically the stuff of legends. They were demons, cast from Hell for crimes by the Princes. Masters of illusion, they killed anyone who entered the Frost. They always played with their food before they ate it, as they were able to shape illusions and their form easily.

And one was standing right in front of Matthew. He shivered, another particularly strong breeze blowing through his clothes.

_Shocking, I know. But I have a job to do. You see, we Mindbreakers have our own territories. And we kill anyone who's in our territory. Your friends...Well, let's just say I'll be dealing with them. I'm going to leave, but don't worry, your brother's still alive. Barely._

The pretty scene around them grew grimmer. The animals dropped dead, their skeletons crumbling away. The plants and trees withered, turning a grey color. In fact, the whole place was growing grey. And then it was gone.

Blood still soaked the snow that had replaced the bare dirt at Matthew's feet. It showed itself to be Kiku, his face bloody and covered in scratches. He wasn't moving.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Matthew said, dropping to his knees beside his fallen friend. He tore off a piece of his shirt and tried to staunch the blood flowing from Kiku's face.

_I'll leave you two to chat._

Allen vanished, and the only remnant of him left was the loud laugh that echoed on the howling wind.

XXXXX

Ivan had been walking around for what seemed like hours. Perhaps it had been hours, but one could not know in the Frost. Time moved differently, sometimes like syrup, sometimes like a landslide that carried away all that you knew.

 _Privet, Ivan Braginsky._ A voice said, and it sounded cruel and calculating. Ivan whipped around, snow flying about around him. A figure stood in the snow, smirking. It looked just like him, if his coat was black, his scarf was a bloody red, his hair was black, and his eyes were scarlet.

"Hello?" Ivan asked, wary. "Who are you?"

_I am Victor, your better half. The half that rules all and provides for his sisters._

"What?" Ivan was confused. He didn't know the Frost had an alternate version of him. As surprising as it was, it was also not out of the realm of possibility here. The Frost didn't operate like the other worlds. Its time was faster or slower, it was always snowy, and no one ever came back.

_I see your doubt. But let me enlighten you. I am the ruler of the Forgotten, an emperor, and I will take the Fire Land next. All the realms will be mine. I will find the Omniscient, and learn its secrets. I will rule all. And you, you are my pathetic half._

"Pathetic?" Ivan asked, drawing the steel pipe from his coat. Snowflakes mixed with his hair and made it shine brightly in the light of the Frost's permanent moon. "Pathetic, you say when I have contacts everywhere, spies that give me information that is valuable."

 _But you do_ nothing _with it! You leave the information to rot when you could use it to build an empire! You could be the ruler of all, practically a god! But you leave it alone, and just know everything. That is why I must eliminate you. You are the half of me that needs to burn._

"That will not happen," Ivan said. "You are no part of me, Mindbreaker."

_Mindbreaker? That's what you think I am? Well, you are right. I am a Mindbreaker, but I am merely echoing what you wish to be, what you yearn to be._

"That is a lie," Ivan replied. Victor growled lowly in its throat.

_You think you can save the world, yet you will break it if you touch it. Your touch poisons, Ivan Braginsky, and may you forever freeze._

Victor allowed itself to be swept away by the howling wind. Ivan replaced his pipe in his coat and continued to search. Even if he broke the world, he will still try to save it, no matter how much it shattered.

XXXXX

The lights were on, and Francis was in the middle of a stage. His admirers were by the dozen, pretty French ladies and American fellows who bowed toward him. He was showered with compliments, on his fashions, his clothing, his conduct. He was the life of the party.

The room seemed drafty, though, and the women, when he tried to touch them, melted away like water. He felt like crying. He was alive again, but it was only a dream. He wanted to hold onto this spiderweb of an illusion for as long as he could. He wanted to be wrapped away, suffocating, perfectly happy.

But he wasn't happy. He was miserable because this isn't what he wanted anymore.

 _Aren't you a cheery one,_ a blond man said by the door. His voice was clear as day, though Francis was over twenty feet from him. A lit cigarette dangled from his smirking lips. He was dressed well, in a perfectly tailored navy and white suit that brought out his indigo eyes.

"Who are you?" Francis asked, and the room dimmed, turning grey. The ladies and men vanished. The man walked toward him.

 _François Bonnefoy, at your service,_ the man mock-bowed. His eyes were cold as he surveyed the room and stage Francis was in.

_Is this what you really want? Men and women admiring you, lovers aplenty?_

"I don't know," Francis answered honestly. François snorted.

_I'm not really for the whole 'love' thing if you catch my drift. I couldn't care less if they liked me or not. It's all about sensation. And it doesn't matter if I'm in the spotlight or not._

"Use 'em and lose 'em, you mean?" Francis said. François nodded.

_It's better that way. No one to bother you, because you choose when you interact. The world is perfectly controlled by you. You are the master of your own destiny. No one can tell you what to do._

"That's not what I want," Francis protested. François smirked and sauntered closer. The smell of tobacco and cologne overwhelmed Francis' senses.

_I've seen your heart, Francis Bonnefoy because I am your heart. I am what you wish you could be. I am what everyone wants, someone that will leave them for someone better the moment they turn their head. I am your better side._

"No, you're not," Francis stated, though his voice quavered as he spoke. "I don't want what you want."

_Wouldn't it be nice if people just left you alone? You would be free to do whatever you wanted, quickly, easily, enough that no one would be able to stop you. A god among men!_

The room was crumbling away, pieces of the walls and floor cracking. François looked down.

_Your illusion is almost over. You could be here forever, you know. Forever, with everything you could ever want._

"No," Francis replied firmly. "That's not what I want. Everything I want is right here."

 _Are you sure?_ François asked as the room dissolved.  _Would you leave a lifetime of luxury behind for this?_

"YES!"

François rolled his eyes.  _Whatever, kid. Enjoy freezing._

The room disappeared, and Francis was left in the snow. He knelt down, put his head in his hands, and cried.

XXXXX

Gilbert was on the top of the world. He was admired, liked, popular. But something was wrong. No one he was friends with was there, and there was a cold wind and a resistance whenever he moved his feet, something wet and cool sloshing around in his combat boots.

He caught a brief glimpse of Matthew and Alfred, but their image dripped away like water before his eyes.

 _Fitting that you would want something like this._ Some sneering voice said. Gilbert looked around to see a pale man standing by a water fountain, grinning. His violet eyes glittered in the light, and his blond hair was slicked back. A long scar was etched on his cheek, an ugly thing that contrasted sharply with the porcelain color of his skin.

"Ludwig?" Gilbert asked. The man shook his head.

_No. I am Lutz, your brother's hidden and much better part._

"My brother's perfectly fine, thank you very much!" Gilbert scoffed. No one got to insult Ludwig except him and Feliciano. Maybe Matthew a little but not too much.

_You misunderstand me. I am your brother, but I am his better part. I am the half of him he always conceals._

"He conceals nothing!"

_Do you really believe that? He didn't tell you about his relationship with the Italian for a year and a half. He's always excelled at things more than you. Your father loves him more. People admire him. They like him._

The room was silent, and the figures were frozen in place. Lutz grinned.

_I see you are doubting your own beliefs._

"No, I'm not," Gilbert said, but his voice quivered. Maybe his father did love West more...

"DON'T BELIEVE HIM!" someone screamed. Gilbert looked around, but there was no one there. The room was empty except for him and Lutz.

Lutz muttered a curse under his breath, and his form changed. Instead of the Ludwig-lookalike, he was a demon, tall against the walls. The illusion shattered, and it revealed a furious-yet-scared Matthew and a half-conscious Kiku.

"He's a Mindbreaker, Gilbert, and he's not your brother!" Matthew yelled over the sound of the wind that had mysteriously come up. Ivan was coming up behind them. Alfred was still missing, however.

 _He's right_ , the Mindbreaker agreed.  _But you are not my targets. My target is the one appearing over there. Arthur._

Arthur was indeed appearing, sprinting over to them. His eyes widened when he saw the Mindbreaker. A single word fell from his lips. A name.

"Conlidam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to use the 2p versions of them for ages, but this was particularly fun. I had a very specific format for this chapter, which I had imagined from the beginning. If you weren't really sure about what happened to the forest in Matthew's section, then imagine that scene in Wonder Woman where Ares if trying to convince Diane and they're in the forest illusion and it decays as they speak. Francis' part was particularly difficult, I'm not used to writing from his POV. If you think I could change something about it, please tell me. Anyone catch the Supernatural quote in Alfred's section?


	13. Chapter 13

_Present Day, the Frost_

Arthur gaped at the demon. Conlidam smiled thinly, revealing the saber-thin and sharp teeth hidden behind his lips.

 _Thought I was dead, did you? Nice try, the silver nearly killed me._  The demon pulled a long-bladed knife from somewhere on him. _I still have the scar_.

"Arthur, Arthur, please," Matthew begged. He didn't know what he was wanting Arthur to do. The shapeshifter just looked….lost. And alone. Like his world was crashing around him and when the floor crumbled underneath his feet, there would be no one to catch him.

Arthur just shook his head minutely. Conlidam threw the knife to the side and spread his arms.  _Going to kill me, Artie? Make me_ suffer like _the rest of your friends are?_

Gilbert struggled to his feet and stumbled to Matthew, who wrapped a comforting arm around him. Kiku shivered violently as Ivan stood, at a loss for what to do.

 _If you wanna kill me, Artie,_  Conlidam said, rolling his shoulders and neck,  _very well. Give it your best shot._

Arthur charged forward, his form rippling.

The next moment a full-grown horse made a demon go flying. Conlidam landed twenty feet away, and his skull made a terrible crack against the ground. Arthur snorted.

Idiot.

Red eyes shone around them. Conlidam appeared again, less of a specter now he had been body-slammed. He glared at them all.

_Clever, Artie, but that's really all you can do? I know for a fact there's a hole under your feet now. And the Frost can be manipulated by anyone with a strong mind. Yours is the most broken by far._

"He's not broken!" someone screamed. They turned to see Francis, tears running messily down his face.

Conlidam rolled his eyes.  _You really think you can defeat me? With that lump you call your friend? Pathetic._

"Oh, shut it, you," Matthew said. The demon turned.

_Oh, you're that blond's brother. Matthew. I know all about you._

"No, you don't," Matthew snorted. "You know nothing about me or any of us. If you know all about me, then what my favorite color? TV show? Book? Movie?"

Conlidam looked at a loss.  _Oh…_

"It's alright, I'll tell you," Matthew said confidently. "My favorite color is red, my favorite TV show is Sherlock, the book is Leaves of Grass, and my all-time favorite movie is Dr. Zhivago. But you didn't know that, did you? Because you know absolutely nothing about any of us. You may be able to see what we do and don't want, but you will never be able to know us. Because you lack that capacity, even in that magical brain of yours."

He focused on the energy writhing about in the air. He imagined a big hole, right where Conlidam was standing, which led to a prison. The Frost responded, opening up the ground underneath the demon. He kept talking.

"You think you're so clever, showing me who an evil version of my brother is. Trapping me in my own dreamscape, but you're wrong. You're an idiot, and you'll always be an idiot because you will never understand people."

Vines climbed from the hole, and they wrapped around Conlidam. The demon started to struggle, but Matthew wouldn't let it happen.

"You will never, ever, be able to win against us."

The vines dragged Conlidam downward, into the prison Matthew had made just for him. The plants were sharp on the end, and they stabbed through the demon as he attempted to escape. A single clawed hand stayed in the air, and then Conlidam was gone.

XXXXX

_April 17, 2003, Williams-Jones residence_

The dream was lovely, at least that's what Alfred thought. It kept him warm and happy.

His small body moved around on a pre-destined track, and there was nothing he could do to deviate from it.

A shadow fell across his vision. The small Alfred giggled and looked up. It was his father, and somehow Alfred knew it.

"You're not supposed to be in here!" His father scolded him gently. "Your mother's in here!"

"But I wanna see Mommy…"

"No, Alfred! For the last time, your mother is sick!" The man took a hold of Alfred's arm.

"But-"

"No, Alfred," his father said firmly. But someone interrupted.

"It's ok, Sam," his mother whispered from the bed. Her voice was weak and frail, ready to crumble at a moment's notice.

"Amelia, please-" Sam looked pleadingly at her. Amelia rose up, and the present day Alfred gasped.

Her skin was green and mottled with leaves. Her eyes were violet, but they were tinged with green around the edges. Vines were curling around behind her, and her short, wavy blond hair was mussed.

"It's ok," she repeated. "I miss him just as much as he misses me."

"Amelia, I don't need my son to be sick too. You need rest, you need to lie down-"

"Don't," Amelia warned. "You have already taken away Matthew, I don't need my other son to forget me too."

"Alright," Sam sighed. He swung Alfred up and walked over to the bed. Alfred was set down, and he stared up at Amelia, who smiled tiredly.

"Hey, Freddie," she whispered. Alfred giggled with delight.

"Mommy, are you still sick? Why do you have so many plants? Is Mattie sick too?"

"No, Freddie, but Mommy is. And she misses you, you know."

"I miss you too! I wish you weren't sick, so we could make cookies again."

"That would be nice, but Daddy thinks you need to stay healthy. And so do I, okay?"

"Okay," Alfred promised, pouting. Amelia laughed.

"Don't be like that. I'm sure I'll be over this soon enough."

"And then cookies?"

She chuckled. "And then cookies."

The present-day Alfred smiled a little. The room dimmed, the small Alfred becoming fuzzy. What Amelia said next was muffled. Sam turned to the doorway, and the scene was gone.

He woke with a start.

XXXXX

_Present Day, The Frost_

Matthew collapsed. Ivan rushed over and pressed a hand to Matthew's wrist. "His breathing isn't regular."

"What?" Arthur demanded. Ivan shook his head.

"He overexerted himself. Making a prison for a demon, that takes serious mental strength and energy. I'm surprised he's even breathing at all. Doing something like that…"

"I'm impressed with Matthew," Francis interrupted. "He took down a demon. That's amazing."

"Impressive as it is," Arthur said, "that doesn't change the fact that we're in the middle of a realm none of us are familiar with, Kiku's in a coma, I'm injured, and Alfred is missing!"

"He's right," Gilbert acknowledged. "We should find Alfred."

"We won't have to," Ivan said, pointing to a hill about a hundred yards away. A lone figure was standing there, looking at them. They started sprinting.

Alfred skidded to a stop a few seconds later. The momentum sent him sprawling, and his hair was filled with snow. He looked at them all.

"Hey, guys, how are you?"

And for the second time in a few days, Arthur punched Alfred.

"Arthur, what-"

"You scratched me,  _you arse!_ " Arthur screamed. He swung at Alfred again, who dodged the hit. "You ripped my favorite pants!"

"What?" Alfred was mildly confused.

"You slashed at me five thousand times, don't act like you don't know-"

"Know what?"

"Oh my god, you did get mindswept," Ivan laughed. Matthew was still lying unconscious in the snow underneath them all.

"What the hell are you laughing on about?" Gilbert asked. He stared at them all. "Did you forget about Matthew, right beneath your feet,  _barely breathing?_ "

"Oh, right," Arthur said sheepishly. "Sorry, Matthew."

"He can't hear you. And what happened to Kiku, he looks like he got his face smashed in."

"Allen happened."

"Who's Allen?" Alfred asked.

"A form of a Mindbreaker. He tormented Matthew and kept him contained in his own dreamscape," Ivan explained.

"How do you know about Allen?" someone asked from below them. They all looked down in unison at the now-awake Matthew.

"Ivan can apparently mind-read," Francis said sarcastically.

"Oh, okay," Matthew replied. "That's nice. Why's Al here?"

"He's, um, mindsweep free," Gilbert answered nervously. Matthew nodded sleepily.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to go to sleep, it's been a long day or night….I don't know what time it is. Is it even spring anymore?"

"We don't know."

"Mmkay," he said, dozing off. He started to hum as he fell asleep.

_Hey, hey, you, you, I know that you like me, (no way no way), no it's not a secret…._

"What in hell's fires is he  _singing_?" Arthur asked, perplexed. Alfred stifled a laugh.

"Avril something. He's fond of her, she's Canadian. And punk."

_Hey, hey, you, you, I don't like your girlfriend…_

"I don't like it…." Arthur muttered.

"It will change in a minute, he hums when he sleeps sometimes," Alfred reassured. Arthur was not comforted.

And sure enough, Matthew started something else.

_Just lay, in the atmosphere….A casual….affair, (hush, hush now don't you say a word), lay, in the atmosphere, a casual, affair, oh-wah-oh-wow…_

"Panic! at the Disco," Alfred confirmed. Arthur rolled his eyes while Francis looked concerned.

"That does not sound particularly nice, perhaps he needs a better music list…"

_I did it, I did it, I did it, I did it again…._

"Did what?" Ivan asked as Alfred rolled his blue eyes to the sky.

"Honestly, you have never heard good music-"

"I beg your pardon!" Arthur scowled. Alfred started to sing, drowning out the rest of whatever he was saying.

"Take, any moment, anytime, a lover on the left, a sinner on the right, the right," Alfred began. Arthur looked ready to murder him. But Alfred stopped quickly. And then began the most infamous of all the songs he knew, the one that was guaranteed to ruin friendships and burn villages.

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer-"

"Oh, Jesus, you're in for it," Gilbert smirked.

"You take one down, you pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer!"

"I swear to god, Alfred, if you continue I will slice you across the throat with your own sword," Arthur threatened as the other three looked mildly amused.

"Fine, god, you're so salty," Alfred conceded. He started to warble out some tune about the moon hitting someone's eye and a 'pizza pie' but Ivan stopped that in its tracks.

The situation of an unconscious Kiku and sleeping Matthew was soon remedied by Ivan swinging Kiku over his shoulders and gently carrying Matthew, bride-style.

"How do we get out of here?" Alfred asked after they had been walking for a while.

Arthur shrugged. "There's a Portal to here from the Black Forest. Getting out of here takes a hell of a time, you'd need an Elemental or a magic item-"

He stopped and turned to Alfred, eyes alight. "Do you know how to construct an Air Portal?"

"I used to," Alfred admitted somewhat sheepishly. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Then figure out how to make one! We could get out of here! I'm starving, I'm sure everyone else is too, we're freezing our arses off here, and wandering around here forever is practically begging for a death sentence, from a demon or from the Frost itself. This place is evil, and it has a mind of its own. I'm sure the only reason we're still even alive is that Kiku is near us. It recognizes one of its own when they come here. Demon to demon. Like to like."

"Okay, jeez!" Alfred exclaimed. "Hold on a minute!"

He set down his sword and concentrated, closing his. Francis, in a rare moment of helpfulness, kept giving little tips.

"Imagine a little thread connecting you and wherever you want to go. Imagine that thread getting more strands and growing stronger."

Alfred stretched out his arm, and ice began forming in the darkness. His eyes glowed brightly, two points of light in the pitch black of the Frost's eternal night, even with his eyes closed. The wind stopped blowing around them.

"Imagine being in the area you wish to be in."

The ice on his arm spread to his fingers and extended. They began glowing indigo, turquoise, and teal. It spun quickly and extended, still spiraling. The blues and greens became dazzling.

"When you have imagined where you wish to be, picture the thread again. Make it stronger, add more strands until it is thick and strong."

Alfred opened his eyes, and runes appeared on his cheeks. Runes in a language none of them spoke, but it conveyed safe travels and the exploration of places unknown.

Ingredientes urbem me flere eterne me intrare; per me tu populo in damnatis.

"What?" Arthur whispered. Francis shook his head.

"Don't, he's just making the Portal."

_In aeternis tenebris ignem et glaciem._

"He's speaking in Latin," Ivan said in wonder. The Portal spiraled faster. There was a loud crack, and they all disappeared.

XXXXX

General Winter's office, Kitsune Academy

Allistor stared at the broken body of Hannah. The blood had long since drained, and it left a mere shell.

"Oh, Hannah," he whispered, "it is love that has so eluded you."

There was nothing he could possibly do. She was dead, and her clockwork body had reached its last tick of the hour. She would not breathe again, and her mechanical heart was shattered.

"You missed it, you know, Rose's birthday. She'd be over a hundred years old by now," he chuckled lowly in his throat. Hannah didn't reply.

"I regret winding her down. I'll awaken her, someday. She's my Rose, my beautiful thornless Rose. I suppose she was your Rose, too, your Lily. Your Primrose, your Iris, your flower."

He moved closer, ignoring the silver coating the floor.

"You wonder why I wanted to take her. I'll answer that. For love. Love, that moves the sun and the other stars. Love, that shatters hearts and builds them up again. Love, that breaks down walls and remakes them. Love, that brings people together and tears them apart. For Love, I took Rose, because I was selfish. I needed Love, with its fickle heart and broken body mottled with the scars of the years."

He knelt down and picked up something that had fallen unnoticed from her pocket.

"You would never trust me with our daughter. Something about me corrupting her innocence, ruining her perfect ignorance."

With tears streaming down his face, he clutched the wilted rose to his chest. The thorns pierced his skin, and his golden blood rained down and stained the silver on the ground.

He waited a few moments, then rose unsteadily.

"You have had your chances with Rose. Now I will have mine." He dropped the bloody rose to the ground, and he walked out.

He would find the eternal darkness, the fire, and the ice. And when he found it, he would make everyone around him pay for their crimes.

After all, he was justice made into being, and he would watch them all  _burn._


	14. Chapter 14

_Kitsune Academy, Present Day_

They collapsed in a heap at the steps. Alfred, at the top, rolled off and spit out a chunk of stone that had somehow worked its way into his mouth. He groaned.

"I will never, ever, ever do that again."

"Ditto," Arthur mumbled at the bottom of the pile. He wiggled and tried to get out unsuccessfully. "Dammit!"

"Calm yourself," Ivan barked from his position on Arthur. Francis struggled out of them and he dragged Kiku and Matthew out as well. Ivan rolled away and Gilbert wobbled up. Arthur just lay there for a few minutes, inhaling deeply.

"That was interesting," Gilbert said. Francis snorted in agreement as he tried to wake the sleeping Matthew, who was humming "O Canada" loudly. Kiku was still out cold.

"Oh my hell, are you guys alright?!" someone shrieked. They turned to see Katyusha, sprinting towards them with Natalya at her side. Ivan's lips curved slightly.

"Hey, Katyusha."

She checked them all over repeatedly, Francis enjoying the attention and Arthur suffering it for a minute until he snapped and shouted to be left alone. Alfred was a little sheepish as she lifted and flexed out his arms. She took a single glance at Kiku and Matthew and immediately started ordering them to take them to the infirmary.

The nurse on duty took a double take at the mismatched group, Natalya hanging on to Ivan like he had come from the dead. She ushered them to two beds, and they carefully set down Kiku and essentially dropped Matthew.

She bustled around, gathering bandages and ointment, as well as a mahogany wand that shot sparks when she picked it up. "Now, I don't know what happened to you when you disappeared, but I must insist you all take some much-needed rest. Your teachers will understand your homework situation."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but we can't rest," Arthur said. Despite looking matronly and caring, the nurse looked remarkably like a saber-toothed tiger when irritated.

"Kirkland, you will do as I say. You cannot run on fumes. Now, there are not enough beds for the lot of you, so Beilschmidt, you'll be sleeping with Williams here. Kirkland, Bonnefoy, take the bed here. Braginsky, I hope you enjoy Jones' company because you'll take the bed over there."

They shuffled off to their respective beds and arranged themselves semi-comfortably. Ivan took up a good portion of the bed from sheer size and Alfred was forced to curl tightly inward. Arthur sprawled out in the middle and took up nearly all of the mattress as Francis curled at the foot. Gilbert cautiously moved the sleeping Matthew and passed out.

The nurse wrapped up their various wounds, spreading a thick purple goo over them and binding the injuries with bandages that shone bright blue when applied to the paste. Kiku took her almost an hour, as she was forced to magically repair all the cuts, broken bones, and scratches he had accumulated.

When Arthur awoke, he found Alfred already up and about. The blond looked at him.

"Hey, Artie," Alfred croaked. A cup of coffee, smelling strong and bitter, was in his hands and he gripped it tightly. Arthur noticed his knuckles were white from the pressure of his fingers.

"Morning," Arthur replied, bustling around to look at everyone. He had not taken a shower for god knows how long, and his body felt dirty. He checked the calendar. And checked it again. And a third time, just to make sure that he was seeing things correctly.

 _Two months_ had passed since they had been kidnapped. Two months. The amount of homework they had...

"Oh my hell," he whispered. "Jackson's going to kill me."

Alfred laughed at the horrified look on his face. "He shouldn't, it's hardly your fault that you got kidnapped."

"In his mind, it is," Ivan appeared behind them. His ivory hair was mussed and his coat had been shrugged off, revealing a light purple t-shirt and jeans. His brown boots were present as ever, but the fuzzy tops had been unveiled.

Arthur nodded in agreement. "If there's something you can be blamed for, he makes it his life's purpose to ensure you get in trouble. Even if you accidentally tripped someone two years ago."

"What are you guys talking about?" someone asked them. Gilbert was trying to fix his messy hair and wake Matthew in the process.

"We're talking about His Royal Ass-ness, Mr. Jackson," Alfred answered, grabbing Arthur a cup of tea and adding an absurd amount of sugar. He handed the steamy and by-then syrup-like liquid to Arthur and made Ivan coffee as well.

"Oh," Gilbert mused. "Can I have a cup of that?"

"Tea, coffee, or chocolate?" Alfred inquired.

Arthur took a tentative sip and nearly choked. While also nearly boiling, the tea was so sugary he could almost feel his teeth rotting out of his mouth. "Aren't you a little housewife, Alfred."

"Oh, shut up," Alfred snapped as Gilbert called out that he wanted coffee, black as night. He snatched the tea from Arthur's hands.

"Alfred, calm down," Ivan scolded, but to no avail. Alfred slammed down his drink, and in two gulps, drained Arthur's. Arthur scoffed at him.

"You can't blame me for it being hotter than the fires of Hell!"

Alfred chugged his coffee with an almost manic look in his eyes. "I do whatever the hell I want."

"Not if you're an idiot during it," Ivan replied, taking the empty cup from Alfred's fingers. The latter scowled at him and floated upward to grab it. Swiftly, Ivan threw the cup into the sink and filled it to the brim with liquid soap. Alfred glared.

"Asshole."

"I'm not an asshole," Ivan retorted cheerfully. "I'm just someone who keeps you from being stupid."

"Same difference," Alfred said, making himself another cup. The nurse was nowhere in sight, and the wrappings on his wounds were itching badly. "Any news from this side of the grass?"

"What does that even  _mean_?!" Arthur asked. Alfred shrugged.

The nurse appeared, holding a fresh batch of coffee and a plate of cookies. She motioned for Alfred to come over.

"You've gotten a letter, dear," she said, handing him an unopened envelope. "Says it's from Etheira, wonder how long it took to get here. Mail's so slow here."

Alfred snatched it from her and eagerly sat down to read it. He had not seen Elizabeta or Antonio in ages.

_Dear Al and Matt,_

_We hope you two are back by the time this letter gets to you. I'm not writing a novel, so no bitching about how much I'm writing here. Any-gays, Eliza was all over Portaling to the Academy, but we wouldn't let her. I was very much in agreement with her, but it was decided we would stay here. If we got there, we would have definitely torn the place apart looking for you._

_I'm glad Al's making friends, Matt. I was worried he wouldn't socialize, he can be so moody sometimes! And that you're making conversation too. I'm sorry about your fight, I hope Al's getting better. He can be so sensitive!_

_Anyway, Eliza's fine, she's practicing with Roderich (you remember her friend from years ago? She's speaking to him again) on magical powers. He can play the piano, and he's all I hear about nowadays. Shocking, I know..._

_I hope you guys are alright, and I'm coming to visit in a few weeks. Don't go batshit crazy or kill something, I'll be forced to sell your souls on the black market._

_Love,_

_Antonio the Fantastic and Elizabeta (the bitch)_

_P.S.- Antonio lied. I'm not a bitch. Also, check this letter when you get near a fireplace. Keep yourself warm. -E_

Alfred snorted. It was just like Antonio and Elizabeta. And he wondered about Elizabeta's note. 'Check this letter when you're near a fireplace'? Then the answer dawned on him.

"Anyone have a lighter?" he called. Gilbert tossed him one, which was embossed with the Prussian flag and a picture of a small chick.

Alfred flicked it on and put the flame underneath the letter. Small letters shone at the bottom.

_We know who the Icarus Society is and what they're planning. Don't involve yourselves in this, you included, Al. You're the center of their plan, and if you die, you will die a long and hard death from Allistor. We have spies in the Society, and they know what his plan is. Stay safe, you two, and protect your friends. They're a part of it. When you see this, burn the letter. We can't risk having this seen. -A & E_

Alfred sputtered. As if he was going to just stand by while Antonio and Eliza risked their lives to stop Allistor. He scowled. They probably thought he couldn't handle it-

"Al?" someone asked quietly. Alfred looked down at the now-awake Matthew.

"Hey, Mattie," Alfred answered. Matthew took a single, searching glance into his eyes before he wrapped Alfred in a bruising, rib-cracking hug. Alfred choked out a laugh and hugged him back.

"It seems you missed me."

"You jerk!" Matthew exploded. "You worried the hell out of me, with your scary tattoo and speaking with Allistor. You dumbass, I cannot believe you're even my brother!"

Alfred laughed again, a real laugh that echoed throughout the room and made his eyes sparkle like sapphires. "I know. But what else am I but your dumbass brother who can't help but get in trouble?"

"A moron."

Alfred chuckled and clutched him tighter. Ivan jogged over, his coat still absent.

"I hate to ruin your very touching moment, but Kiku's still not awake. We don't know why, and his wounds didn't heal. The nurse, Kathrine, says that there's nothing she can do about it. Mindbreaker wounds tend to kill their host quickly," Ivan informed. Alfred's smile dropped and so did his arms. He stood up and walked out.

"Al? Alfred?" Matthew called after him. "Goddammit."

He swung his legs over the bed and stood on shaky legs. Ivan looked concerned.

"Matthew, don't run after him. He needs time on his own to deal with what's happened."

"No, he doesn't, dammit!" Matthew exclaimed, looking longingly at the door. Ivan moved in front of him and blocked his view. "Matthew, you need to calm down. Running through the halls like a madman won't get you anywhere."

Matthew sighed. He was right. Moving around and trying to find Alfred when he was upset was like finding a needle in a haystack. It was pretty impossible. Unless you had a magnet.

But that didn't mean he couldn't try. He sprinted around Ivan and headed for the door. With a smack on his shoulder, he was out. And he had no idea where he was.

The hallway was unfamiliar, but he followed it until it split and went through another door.

He sighed. This was going to be a long trip.


End file.
